


Unwanted

by hidden_inside_of_you



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Firefighter!Wolfgang, Single Parents, Slow Burn, Teacher!Kala, Unplanned Pregnancy, also if you hate Rajan like many fans, and are worried he'll ruin this fic for you, he plays a minor & unlikeable role, if you thought Wolfgang was a fuckboy canonically, so take a chance, wait until you meet this version of him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 119,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidden_inside_of_you/pseuds/hidden_inside_of_you
Summary: Wolfgang lives a self-indulgent life in Berlin until he makes a mistake he can't take back. Kala, unhappily married and struggling to conceive a child, decides to leave behind the life she has always known. When their paths converge, the unexpected happens, and Kala is forced to face a betrayal from her past.





	1. Chapter 1

**20:07, 19 May 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**  
  
Wolfgang Bogdanow combs his hand through his damp hair as the rain comes down along Kottbusserstraße. He lifts his hood over his head and lights a cigarette, shielding it from the rain, and continues under a graffitied overpass. He circles his shoulders in their sockets, sore from work, and clenches his teeth for a moment, impatient to meet Felix at the bar and have a beer. He hastens his pace as he reaches the right street, shoulders soaked, and passes several apartments plastered with advertisements; the street smells distantly of sewage and marijuana.  
  
He goes into the small bar he agreed to meet Felix at. It’s dark, slightly dank, and the music grumbles under the drunken conversations. He spots Felix near one of the stained glass windows and sits heavily in the seat across from him. He takes a long drink of the beer waiting for him.  
  
“Three calls,” he murmurs as he sets the pint down. “Who gives matches to a seven-year-old?”  
  
Felix snorts and finishes the last foam of his beer, shaking his head. “Most people are fucking dumb.”  
  
“This kid said he wanted to see how fast carpet would burn,” replies Wolfgang, taking another glug of beer and adding with a tilt of his head, “something I would have done.”  
  
“Whole house gone?” asks Felix.  
  
Wolfgang starts to laugh. “Yeah. His parents probably regret the quick fuck that created him.”  
  
“Shit, man, I always miss the exciting days,” says Felix, leaning back.  
  
Wolfgang takes off his hoodie and stretches in his seat. “You shouldn’t. Fuck, I’m sore.”  
  
Shifts at the fire station pass more quickly when Felix is working too, and today was unusually long and intensive. He glances interestedly at a girl behind the bar, considering soothing his sore muscles with sex, and Felix snaps his fingers at him after a moment.  
  
“You’re such a fucking horndog," mumbles Felix incredulously.  
  
“What?” retorts Wolfgang, indignant. “She’s hot, look at her ass.”  
  
Felix glances at the girl and then he frowns appreciatively. “Yeah. True…”  
  
They look together for a moment before Wolfgang shakes his head and drinks his beer. He finds himself, for once, too tired for sex; he wouldn’t mind falling asleep with his head in a woman’s lap, her fingers in his hair, but he doesn’t do girlfriends. He exhales, finishing off the beer, and a waitress appears to take their empty glasses and replace them with more beer.

*******

**23:07, 19 May 2010**  
**Mumbai, India**  
  
Kala Rasal paces the marble tiles of her bathroom, head tilted back, resisting the temptation to look at the pregnancy test in her hand before the timer expires. She massages her bottom lip between her teeth, nauseous, regretting her decision to eat a bite of dal.  
  
She barely eats, and she knows this won’t help her get pregnant, but she lost her appetite months ago. Rajan suggested something was wrong and told her to see her doctor, but she declined, aware that her lack of appetite was related to nerves.  
  
The timer rings and she stops breathing. She looks for a moment through the window to steady herself; the blue and orange lights of Mumbai swirl in the frosted glass like an impressionist painting. She swallows, forces herself to breathe, and looks down. _Negative_.  
  
Like the other three times she’s tested herself, she experiences overwhelming disappointment and soaring relief simultaneously. She's conflicted. She doesn’t want a baby, but she doubts her marriage will survive without one.  
  
She exhales, heart pounding, and slips the pregnancy test into the trash. She folds her arms tightly and shakes her head, confused to her core. She’s taken bitter, grassy herbs for months; she’s tried, as best she can, to eat all the foods that her mother insisted increase fertility; she’s drunk plenty of Kapha tea to promote relaxation. She has talked endlessly with her doctor about _Shukra_ tissues and even took metformin to help ovulation.  
  
All this, and unenjoyable sex for months, and still she isn’t pregnant.  
  
She sits on the edge of the bath, sniffling, and looks again out of the misty window.

*******

**20:48, 19 May 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**  
  
“No, there’s no fucking way she’s going to win, you’re out of your mind,” Felix says as he finishes his fourth beer. “Just face it, Wolfie, your Eurovision predictions are always shit--”  
  
“She has the best voice!” argues Wolfgang, shifting in his seat and gesturing with his beer.  
  
“It doesn’t matter, she has a weird nose,” says Felix flatly.  
  
“Shallow,” says Wolfgang.  
  
Felix kicks him under the table and they jostle for a moment, laughing, and then Wolfgang finishes his beer and calls for more. His phone buzzes and he glances at it, then shoves it away and rolls his eyes.  
  
“She’s relentless,” he murmurs.  
  
“Anja?” guesses Felix.  
  
Wolfgang picks up the phone again and turns it so Felix can see the screen. _8 Missed Calls, 27 Messages._ Felix’s eyes widen and he looks warily at Wolfgang.  
  
“What do you think that’s about?” he asks.  
  
Wolfgang shrugs, annoyed, and pockets the phone.  
  
“You sure you shouldn’t...you know, at least check?” says Felix.  
  
“She wasn't my girlfriend,” retorts Wolfgang.  
  
Felix takes the two beers the waitress has just passed by with and takes a long drink, then rests his head in one hand. “Well…”  
  
Wolfgang shakes his head firmly. “We hooked up maybe...eight times. And got dinner once. That doesn’t make her my girlfriend.”  
  
Felix slides one of the beers to him. “Didn’t you, you know, let her believe you were interested in something serious so you could keep having sex with her?”  
  
Wolfgang takes a sip of beer and reflects on this for a moment. Then he tilts his head in concession and Felix starts to laugh.  
  
“Fuck, man, maybe you should put something on your Tinder like _hookups only,_ ” he jokes.  
  
Wolfgang laughs too, relaxing. “No, then the good girls disappear--”  
  
“Okay, on behalf of all women, you need to be slapped--”  
  
“Since when do you care about any of this?” asks Wolfgang.  
  
Felix shakes his head, laughing harder. “You’re fucking awful!”  
  
Wolfgang drinks his beer and nods. “Yeah, I know.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and gestures with it. “Here, I’ll prove I’m not that bad, I’ll check the messages…” He unlocks his phone and goes to his inbox, then clears his throat and puts on a high, mocking voice. “Where are you? I need to see you, it’s important.”  
  
Felix wheezes and slumps forward on the table. Wolfgang continues to imitate Anja in a whiny tone.  
  
“Why don’t you ever pick up your phone? I know you’re at work but this isn’t funny.” He rolls his eyes and says in his normal tone, “Yeah, putting out fires, but she thinks she’s the priority…” He scrolls down, laughing, and resumes making fun of her. “I really need to talk to you! I’m serious! I’ve called six times you asshole!” He glances at Felix, who is in hysterics, and drinks his beer. “Asshole is in all caps. This is fun.”  
  
“You’re going to hell,” says Felix, voice thick and distorted due to laughter.  
  
Wolfgang grins. “Can’t you at least text me back? Why are you like this?” He laughs ominously. “I don’t think she wants to know the answer to that.” He drinks more and resumes the ditzy tone. “I need to talk to you! What don’t you understand about that? Fucking text me back, this is really important! I need to see you in person!”

Felix dries his tears on his sleeve and chokes back another laugh. He holds up a hand so Wolfgang stops, then drinks his beer and breathes out hard. “Okay, I know she’s fucking annoying, but that actually does sound important.”  
  
“It’s always the usual shit,” says Wolfgang, unconcerned. “She probably left something at my apartment and this is an excuse to see me.”  
  
“Maybe she has herpes,” says Felix wisely. “Maybe she’s in love with you.”  
  
“Yeah, those are the only two options,” snarks Wolfgang, nodding.  
  
He pockets his phone and rubs his hand over his stubble, then glances at his watch, yawning. Weekdays look the same. He works at the fire station from five until five -- he would work shorter shifts if he could afford to -- and then meets Felix for a drink. He doesn’t mind the routine, except that it leaves him exhausted.  
  
“I’ve got to sleep--”  
  
His phone rings, interrupting him, and he swears as he takes it out of his pocket. He hits end and gets to his feet, pulling his hoodie off the back of his chair. Felix readies to leave as well and they exit the bar, stumbling slightly.  
  
“You always get me drunk,” Wolfgang tells him.  
  
“You said you had a long day,” defends Felix.  
  
Wolfgang shrugs. “Yeah, and Anja’s making it longer.”  
  
Felix hugs him from the side and punches his arm. “See you at work, man.”  
  
Wolfgang nods and goes in the opposite direction, lifting his hood against the continuing rain.

*******

**23:48, 19 May 2010**  
**Mumbai, India**  
  
Kala lies awake in bed, one arm above her head, one hand gently massaging her concave tummy. She studies the sleek chandelier on the ceiling and lets the breeze come in through the double door, soothing her skin in the heat.  
  
She’s unsure why Rajan isn’t home -- she suspects trouble at the company -- but she’s glad for the unusual night to herself. She reflects on the infertility in her family. She has two aunts who weren’t able to conceive, and a cousin. She isn’t well-versed on the genetics of fertility, but she supposes it’s possible it is a familial affliction she could be affected by. She glances down at herself, experimentally pushing her stomach out, envisioning how she would look in the early months of pregnancy. She tilts her head, searching for a clear emotion, but finds her mind cloudy. Her mother suggested that her ambivalence itself could explain her struggle to get pregnant, but Kala found this quite unscientific and insulting.  
  
Lately, she prays for clarity. She wishes she knew what she wanted. She does not want to find out that she can’t conceive and still feel unclear -- would she grieve, or would she feel relieved? Would her emotions be connected to the inability to have children, the loss of a future with a family of her own, or would they be related instead to her marriage? If the marriage ends over this issue, she feels she would be similarly confused. Her first year with Rajan has been distinctly unpleasant and uncomfortable, but she can’t imagine her life as a divorced woman. She’s often unsure if she tries to make the marriage work to protect herself, or because she is too cowardly to face an alternative.  
  
Her motivations, as usual, are difficult for her to isolate. She knows she could use time alone; she knows she needs a stronger sense of self. Her decisions always relate to the effect they have on her family, never to her own desires, and she feels proud of how devoted she has been. But she didn’t realize, after years of behaving this way, that she would lose her ability to know herself, to know her own wants.  
  
She wonders now if she was misguided, if she somehow strayed from Ganesha’s intentions for her; an insidious voice tells her she must have, because she would not have been punished with infertility if she was as moral as she thought she was. She’s prayed endlessly and received no directional hint, no reassurance.  
  
Her eyes flicker as she hears the door open across the flat. She glances at Rajan as he comes into the dark room and he looks at her hand on her tummy and momentarily brightens.  
  
She shakes her head. “No.”  
  
Rajan deflates and nods, beginning to put away his things from work. Kala sits up, watching him with glassy eyes.  
  
“Well, we will try again,” he says with a defeated shrug.  
  
“Rajan?” replies Kala cautiously. “I can’t keep doing this.”

*******

**21:06, 19 May 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**  
  
Wolfgang’s apartment is very close to the bar, slightly to the north, which he’s grateful for given the hour and his aching muscles. His phone rings again and he silences it, reaching his street. He digs in his pocket for his keys, gaze down; he looks up as he approaches his stairs and he stops. Anja is sitting on the bottom step. Her hair is drenched and her mascara has formed two cheetah-lines down her cheeks.  
  
He extinguishes his cigarette on the wet pavement. “What the fuck? Go home--”  
  
She bends her face towards her lap, distressed, fingers locked together in front of her knees. She shakes her head slowly. Wolfgang exhales hard, annoyed.  
  
“Anja, c’mon,” he says.  
  
She lifts up, sniffling, and shrugs as she gets to her feet. “Can I come inside?”  
  
“What, do you have an STD or something--”  
  
“No,” she snaps. “Please, just let me come inside.”  
  
He hesitates, but then he lets out a short, rough sigh and nods. He unlocks the door and lets her go in, following her. She takes a seat on his couch and tries to collect herself while he uncaps two beers. He expects a tearful explanation why they should be together, monogamously, how good she is for him, how she cares.  
  
“Make it short, I’m exhausted,” he informs her as he passes her the beer and sits across from her in a chair.  
  
She laughs coldly. “Oh, _you’re_ exhausted? I called and called--”  
  
“Will you hurry up?”  
  
She lifts her gaze, nose wrinkled in dislike, seemingly determined to say her next words without crying; but then her lips tremble and she sniffles loudly. “I’m --” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m pregnant.”  
  
Wolfgang stares at her, body instantly stiff. His fingers clench around his beer and his mouth goes abruptly dry. He starts to shake his head. “You can’t -- you -- what? Is it--”  
  
“It’s yours,” she mumbles, tilting her head, gaze distant.  
  
“How do you know?” he asks.  
  
“Ha,” she hisses. “Some people don’t sleep around while they’re in a relationship.”  
  
“You said you were on birth control,” he says, voice monotone.  
  
“I - I don’t like condoms, okay? So I said it was okay if we didn’t use them.”  
  
He wrinkles his brow and leans forward. “Are you kidding me?”  
  
“I know it was stupid,” she says hastily. “But I thought I could risk it a few times. I paid attention to the calendar, you know, made sure I wasn’t ovulating except...once.”  
  
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he whispers, nauseous.  
  
“I -- I wasn’t, okay?” she replies. “Anyway.” She puts on a forced smile. “I thought you should know considering you can’t stop sticking your dick in every random girl you meet.”  
  
“This is not on me, it’s on you” he says angrily.  
  
She gets to her feet. “You know, I really thought you liked me--”  
  
“I liked fucking you,” he retorts. “Where did you think this was headed? Thought I was going to ask you to marry me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”  
  
She steps back, stung. He glances down, mind heavy, stomach tight and acidic; the room seems to pulse as if he’s dreaming it. Then he hears the swish of liquid as she takes a drink of beer and he tries to take the bottle from her.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asks.  
  
“What, you think I’m keeping it?” she snaps.  
  
They struggle with the beer bottle.  
  
“Why would you tell me if you’re not?” he asks.  
  
She wrinkles her nose again, eyes dark. “Like I said. So you think the next time you sleep around.”  
  
He laughs humorlessly. “Right, thanks, I’m a changed man--”  
  
She rips herself away and swigs the beer. He knocks it out of her hand and she shoves him hard, then slaps him. He steps back, eyes wide and bright.  
  
“You aren’t part of this anymore!” she yells, throwing her purse over her shoulder and heading towards the door.  
  
“Anja--”  
  
She turns and viciously says, “We could have made this work!”  
  
He softens slightly. “Well, you’re -- you’re pregnant, we can talk about it--”  
  
She snorts. “Yeah, like I’d have a kid with you.”  
  
He stands in the empty echo of these words as she departs in the rain.

*******

**00:06, 19 May 2010**

**Mumbai, India**

  
Kala's words echo in the frankincense-infused air of the flat. Rajan stands still, his suitcoat in his hands, listless.

“What do you mean, you can’t do this anymore?” he asks kindly.  
  
Kala rubs her face, sitting up straighter, and shakes her head. “We need to see a doctor. Both of us. Something must be wrong. It's simply impossible that I haven't gotten pregnant."

Rajan sighs. "Perhaps the pressure my mother has been putting on you is too stressful..."

"It isn't stress," insists Kala, though she knows this is a valid suggestion. "You know that several women in my family can't have children. It's very likely that is genetic. We have to be realistic."

Rajan nods, sitting by her. "Yes, yes, I agree. Of course."

He puts his hand on her knee and squeezes it; she swallows the instinct to recoil. She attempts a thankful smile.

"We can't leave something this important to fate," he adds.

Kala expected Rajan to agree with her -- he always does, though she suspects this is to patronize her and does not come from genuine likemindedness.

"Good," says Kala. "I'll call tomorrow morning. Will you be too busy at work if I schedule something during the day?"

He shakes his head and strokes her hair. "I'll make time." Then he thumbs over her brow and says, "In the meantime, we could attempt the, ah, traditional approach again."

She stiffens, praying that her expression is not reluctant. She makes herself laugh weakly at the joke and shakes her head.

"It's so late, Rajan, maybe tomorrow..."

He nods unhappily and withdraws his hand. "Perhaps you can ask the doctor tomorrow about your..." He pauses. "Well, your hesitation. It's possible you have a hormonal imbalance."

Kala stares at him, startled. She's explained to him that she isn't interested in sex -- she told him this before they were married --and that she would only tolerate it to have children. He told her he understood, and of course she doubted that to a degree, but she did not expect him to interpret her repulsion as a medical issue.

"Rajan, that is not what I meant when I told you--"

"Kala, you have to admit it's very unusual," he interrupts softly.

Kala blinks, dazed, and immediately erupts into hot, angry tears. She tugs herself away from him and marches onto the balcony, closing the doors behind her.

*******

**21:10, 19 May 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**

Wolfgang stays in the rainy doorway for a long time, unsure how to proceed, stunned by Anja's stupidity and his own.

He’s never experienced a shock like this; the news has left him unstable, reaching for an impossible alternative explanation. She can’t be pregnant. It can’t be his. He’s twenty-two.  
  
He blinks, startled, as the door slams shut due to a draft. He crosses the room listlessly and locks the door, then returns to the kitchen and pours a large shot of whiskey into a glass. He carries it into the living room and sits on his couch in front of the woodstove, slowly shaking his head. After a sip of whiskey, get gets up and kneels by the stove, quickly piling some firewood and old newspaper scraps. The heat in his apartment is faulty, so he’s learned to rely on this relic.  
  
He sits back on the couch as the flames jump, losing his gaze in them, and he lifts his glass to his mouth. He knows he shouldn’t have believed her when she insisted she was on birth control, but the idea of fucking her without a condom was too appealing to deny in the moment. He knew it was stupid then as now, but as is often the case, he thought with his cock instead of his brain.  
  
He shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch, muscles finally relaxed from the whiskey, and rubs a hand over his tired face. He doesn’t love this girl, he doesn’t want a kid, so he can’t understand why he’s troubled. He’ll never see Anja again, so he doesn’t understand the immediate attachment to the distant, indistinct image of their child.  
  
_It’s probably three cells big, do not start calling it a child like some sentimental fuck._  
  
He finishes the whiskey and the beer leftover from his argument with Anja, then leans forward with his elbows on his knees and stares into the fire. He breathes out heavily.  
  
He’s proud of his job, but he knows the rest of his life doesn’t say much for him -- a studio apartment in a bad neighborhood, an endless sequence of girls he doesn’t love, too much alcohol, too many nights at the club, an addiction to cigarettes, no sense of self. He passed this off as the normal life of a twenty-two year old and told himself it was useless to worry and needless to consider change. He told himself his life would evolve into something rich, varied, and meaningful, despite having no game plan.  
  
He slowly reaches for his guitar, which is leaning on the couch. He tunes it absentmindedly while he thinks  
  
He doesn't want to be with Anja, but he has nothing against her kid, _his_ kid--  
  
_Not a kid. Not viable. It's a bundle of useless cells._  
  
He knows his mother considered an abortion when she was pregnant with him -- he's not entirely sure why she didn't go through with it considering what his father was like -- but she didn't. When he was old enough to understand, she told him it was a gift from God that she kept the baby, because it grew up into him, and he was the best thing in her life. Sweet retrospectively, but of course she had no idea that something like that would happen.  
  
_It changed my life,_ she said. He could use a change, but this is a wake-up call, nothing more. It would be nonsensical to consider asking Anja to have the baby. He can barely afford his own groceries, so the change a baby would provide would be one in a worse direction surely.  
  
He tweaks the C string and drums his thumb lightly on the neck of the guitar. There is something inexplicably appealing about the chance to raise a child and do better than his own father, but he reminds himself that he'll have plenty of opportunities to do that in the future when he has a wife who will know what to do.  
  
_That's the point idiot, if you have a kid when you're married, you'll rely on the woman to do everything and you'll learn nothing._  
  
He continues to tune the guitar, almost laughing at his drunk brain's madcap attempt to see this as an opportunity to change his life, to grow up.  
  
_Why not? Sometimes things happen for a reason._ He sits up straighter, bewildered by his own train of thought. _Drunk me is an idiot. Nothing happens for a reason._  
  
He knows he should go to bed and sleep on this. Logically, he knows Anja can't get an abortion tonight, without making an appointment; he remembers vaguely that Germany requires some kind of counseling. He has time, but he fights the drunken urge to confront Anja and talk all this through tonight.  
  
_What if you don't get another chance? What if this kid is your only shot at having a kid?_  
  
He understands why Anja doesn't want a baby and he knows, given the fact that it's her body and her nine months, she has more of a say than he does. She's probably terrified, embarrassed, and full of regret. He feels now that he should have been warmer earlier.  
  
His fingers slip instinctively into Bob Dylan's _Most of the Time_ and he plays for a moment, slightly too slow, listless from the whiskey.  
  
Anja said she was teaching him a lesson, but her endless phone calls, mask of smeared mascara, and shaky voice make him doubt this now. She’s mentioned before that she likes kids, that she loves babysitting her sister’s sons, and he knows her family is conservative. He’s sure she would never be able to tell them about an abortion, which is a burden he doesn’t wish on anyone.  
  
He breathes out and sets his guitar aside. He decides that if she picks up when he calls, he’ll go talk to her.  
  
He dials and sits forward, listening to the line ring for a moment. Then the ringing fades.  
  
“Hey,” she answers sheepishly.  
  
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Can I come over?”  
  
There’s a pause, and when she finally speaks, her voice is strained with tears. “Yeah, yeah, I’d like that.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll leave right now,” he says.  
  
“Okay,” she says dully.  
  
He gets to his feet and steadies himself, then puts on his jacket and picks up his keys from the entryway. He glances over his shoulder to see that the wood stove is locked, and then goes down the steps into the rain and heads to the nearest U-Bahn.  
  
By the time he reaches Anja’s flat, he’s significantly more sober, affected by the unseasonably cold weather and the time spent on the train. He knocks and is confronted by Anja’s roommate, Briana, a skinny redhead with eyes that communicate a casual willingness to kill a man. Wolfgang takes a step back but Anja calls “it’s okay!” from within.  
  
“Fuck you,” mumbles Briana as Wolfgang passes her.  
  
He ignores this. The flat smells like chilies and newly baked bread, and there is a black and white movie on the television. Anja is standing in the door to her room, head peeking out. Wolfgang crosses the flat to her and she quickly pulls him inside, shutting the door.  
  
“Sorry about Bri,” she mumbles.  
  
“I probably deserved that,” admits Wolfgang.  
  
“Yeah,” agrees Anja, sitting heavily on her bed, wrapped in a popcorn blanket with a steaming mug of tea on the side table. “Sorry for slapping you, I just… I found out this morning and you wouldn’t pick up your damn phone.”  
  
Wolfgang shakes his head to show it doesn’t matter.  
  
She glances at him, jaw tight, lips twitching. Then she shrugs sadly and shakes her head. “I can’t believe it, and I know I shouldn’t even say that because I was stupid but…God, what are we going to do?”  
  
He breathes in, watching her -- he knows she never had bad intentions, and he knows he led her on; he feels he owes her a serious conversation.  
  
“What do you want to do?” he asks her.  
  
“I -- I don’t want a baby,” she tells him. “But I don’t really want to get rid of it, either. I don’t know. I wish this wasn’t true.”  
  
Wolfgang nods, trying to be earnest. “If...if you have it, I won’t go anywhere--”  
  
She laughs humorlessly and holds up a hand. “Oh no. Don’t start.”  
  
His chest tightens with anger. “Look, I know what I’m like, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t be good with a kid. I don’t want a kid right now, of course not, but this might be the only chance I get.”  
  
Anja wipes her nose with the back of her head. “You really want me to rely on a guy that slept with, what, three other girls while he was sleeping with me? Yeah, no, if I have this baby it’s because I’ll be there for it, not you.”  
  
“Here,” mumbles Wolfgang, taking his wallet out of his pocket. He hands her the paycheck he collected today. “I’ll pay for everything while you're pregnant.”  
  
Anja looks at him with heavy, distrustful eyes, and shakes her head. “Guys like you don’t do this. You secretly religious or something?”  
  
“No, I --” He exhales, frustrated. “My childhood was shit, alright? I’d like to prove to myself I’m not like my father.”  
  
“I’m sure there are...other ways to do that,” Anja says skeptically.  
  
He looks down, nodding slowly. He knows she’s right and that the idea of having a child to redeem the past is misguided, if not unfair to the child, but he finds himself strangely insistent that she doesn’t dismiss the idea of him taking care of everything. He’s not sure if this is due to an internalized belief that he, the man, is somehow responsible for her welfare and the kid’s, or if he has a genuine desire to be there, but regardless, the desire exists and only seems to strengthen as the alcohol wears off.  
  
“How long do you have before you…?” he trails off.  
  
“Twelve weeks,” she says, adding, “I’m at eight…”  
  
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, you must be…” He shrugs. “Scared.”  
  
“Yeah, understatement,” she replies.  
  
They sit quietly for a moment, both weighed down by the future. Finally he breathes out and puts his arm around her and she leans against him, closing her eyes.

*******

**00:10, 19 May 2010**  
**Mumbai, India**

Kala leans on the railing of the balcony, staring beyond the marble temple next door at the vivid, sprawling city, skyscrapers sparkling with white light, cars and pedestrians a blur on the streets below. She wipes her face and sniffles loudly, wrapping her silk robe more tightly around herself before crossing her arms.

She can't manufacture desire. She's never experienced attraction to anyone; no heart-rending crushes, no posters of Bollywood hunks on her walls, no hungry desire to be kissed and held. She knows this is unusual, but it's who she is, who she was born as.

She wonders now if she should have had such high expectations of Rajan. Perhaps she should have foreseen this; perhaps he's always felt that this part of her personality is a defect, one he could ultimately change to fit his own needs. She feels foolish now for thinking he would ever understand.

The doors open behind her and she says preemptively, "I don't want to talk right now."

"Kala, please, I don't understand what I said--"

She turns, tears streaming again. "There is nothing wrong with me."

Rajan's face wrinkles in confusion. "I -- I didn't say there was."

"What you said implied that," says Kala fiercely. "I have always been this way, Rajan. Always. You have no right to ask me to change this when I cannot."

"But -- but wouldn't you be happier if you could feel more like I do?" he asks, walking towards her.

Kala is sure she'll regret any unkindness, but she is out of patience. "This is not about my happiness."

"All I care about is your--"

"You are frustrated that I do not want to sleep with you," she interrupts, anger replacing tears.

"I am simply trying to understand--"

She furiously wipes the last of her tears. "You said you understood when I married you, which I would never have done if I had known you would pressure me this often."

He halts, stung, and she stands still, breathing hard.

"I -- I wouldn't," he falters. "It wouldn't be so frequent if we weren't having so much trouble--"

"I don't believe you," interrupts Kala. "You clearly misunderstood me if you think this is something that can be changed or reversed. You cannot teach me to be attracted to you." She pauses, shaking her head bitterly. "Oh, I've been so stupid. To think you would have married me if you actually understood I wouldn't want to sleep with you--"  
  
"I would have!" argues Rajan. "I love _you_."

"You would have expected me to change--"

"I'm only concerned for your health," says Rajan, trying to take her into his arms.

She avoids him, going along the banister, heart frantic against her ribs. He sighs and rubs the back of his head, looking down.

After a moment, he says in a jocular tone, "Are you sure you aren't pregnant? You are quite emotional tonight."

Kala stops breathing and gives her husband a cold, wrathful glare. She clenches her teeth and walks past him into the flat, immediately taking a pillow and blanket off the bed. She retreats to the living room and curls up on the couch, ignoring Rajan's pleas for her to come back until the flat falls silent.

*******

**5:27, 20 May 2010**

**Berlin, Germany**

Wolfgang drinks coffee needily in the pre-dawn light of the fire station, barely awake. He scarcely slept last night and drank more whiskey than he's used to. He gives a cursory nod of hello at Will, the chief of the station, as he passes through the kitchen to the break room. Felix comes into the cramped kitchen just after him.

Wolfgang takes a breath, preparing, and pours a mug of coffee for his friend.

Felix takes it from him with a suspicious expression and Wolfgang shakes his head gently, half-smiling though he's unamused.

"You were right," he says, leaning on the counter.

Felix frowns. "About what?"

"Anja," Wolfgang tells him.

Felix raises his eyebrows. "Shit, what--"

"She's pregnant."

Felix's shoulders sink and his eyes widen wildly. "Fuck!" he whispers. "How the fuck did that happen?"

"She lied about birth control--"

"And you believed her? Oh, shit, man! Are you an idiot?"

"Yeah, obviously," replies Wolfgang blearily, drinking his coffee.

"Shit," murmurs Felix, leaning on the counter next to Wolfgang. "She's not keeping it, right? You gotta talk her out of that."

Wolfgang glances at him, hesitant, and quietly says, "I think I talked her into that,"

Felix's brow furrows and his mouth hangs open slightly. "You -- what? Why?"

"I think I want her to," admits Wolfgang.

Felix seems to physically fold under the weight of this information. "Why would you want her to? You don't want a baby, you don't love her, man, c'mon, you can barely pay your rent!"

Wolfgang shrugs. "I have a good feeling about this."

Will returns to the kitchen, looking at Felix's expression curiously, and slides past them to pour himself coffee.

"Hey, have you seen Wolfgang?" says Felix to him. "Because this guy..." He puts his hand on the top of Wolfgang's head and shakes it around. "This guy is not Wolfgang Bogdanow."

Will raises his brows. "What happened?"

"He got a girl pregnant--"

"Oh, that is Wolfgang," says Will.

Wolfgang laughs. "Fuck off."

"He's thinking about keeping it," says Felix in disbelief. "We need a fucking intervention, he can't have a kid--"

"Why's that?" asks Will.

"Because he's a disaster," says Felix bluntly. "He's twenty-two, he's fucked half of Berlin, he goes clubbing constantly, he smokes and drinks. Will, man, get it together, he is not fatherhood material."

Will shrugs. "Riles and I didn't mean to have Luna but that worked out."

Felix shakes his head rapidly and Wolfgang looks on in amusement.

"No, no, you have a degree, you're married, you have your shit together," insists Felix, adding as he gestures at Wolfgang, "he is the definition of a mess."

Will snorts and drinks his coffee. "Well, he's a damn good firefighter, he has a responsible streak in him."

"Yeah, have some faith in me," jokes Wolfgang.

Felix looks at both of them incredulously. "You don't even like Anja, Wolfie," he says, less animated, almost disappointed. "Don't you want to wait until you fall in love with some girl?"

"That's not going to happen," says Wolfgang with a shrug, adding, "look, we'll probably give it up for adoption, but I don't think she wants an abortion and I'm not going to argue with her about that."

"Yeah, shit," murmurs Will. "Rough situation."

"Okay, Wolfie, do you know how much money it takes to raise a kid? We both grew up fucking broke, do you remember how bad that was? You don't want to put your kid through that."

Wolfgang nods and squeezes Felix's shoulder bracingly. "I know. We have a few weeks before she has to make a decision."

Felix nods too, exhaling, and says quietly, "Sorry Wolfie, you just caught me off guard. Fuck. I'm gonna be an uncle." He stares off and shakes his head after a moment, as if remembering something. "Man. You're a slut."

Wolfgang looks at his solemn expression, and then he snorts and covers his face. The stress, confusion, and exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours transforms suddenly to laughter. Felix starts to laugh too, as well as Will, who shakes his head and doubles over slightly.

"Some things are inevitable," says Wolfgang as the laughter fades, sipping his coffee with a look of sardonic amusement. "Like me getting some girl pregnant."

"You've got your head in the fucking sand, this is bad, you should be crying," says Felix.

"No, it'll be okay," says Will reassuringly. "You'll figure it out." He chuckles a final time and steps away, waving them out of the kitchen. "Okay, morning duties, get on it--"

Wolfgang yawns hugely and slugs the rest of his coffee. Will watches him intently.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" he asks.

Wolfgang closes his eyes, face tilted down, shakes his head. "No."

Will nods. "Okay, go," he says, directing Wolfgang towards the dorm where the firefighters sleep when they've been overworked. "Don't want you falling asleep on the job..."

Wolfgang nods thankfully and goes into the dorm, where he sits on his bunk and slips off his boots, spent. He pinches the bridge of his nose and digs his thumb and forefinger into his eyes to soothe a creeping headache, then breathes out and slumps onto his side, not bothering to pull the covers over himself.

He's too tired to give more thought to his situation. He needs sleep, a meal, and a hard workout before he'll feel sane again. Sleep begins to pull him under instantly, but his phone buzzes in the pocket of his flannel shirt.

He pulls it out wearily and looks at the text in his notifications.

 _Anja, 5:35_ \-- I talked to my mom. I'm having it.

He breathes out and without giving any thought to it, texts back. _OK._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfgang considers his relationsip with Anja while Kala resists her relationship with Rajan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sanyam is a cupcake.  
> 2\. I WILL update Diary next.

**10:08, 18 September 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**  
  
Wolfgang swears, fumbling his thermos of coffee as he veers into an opening in the next lane, earning an angry honk from the driver behind him. He’s never been a careful driver, but he’s in an even greater rush than usual due to an appointment. He glances at his watch and breathes out, annoyed with himself for leaving work so late, and resists the urge to fiddle with the GPS on his phone. He’s trying to drive more carefully so he’s broken his reckless habits by the time Ella -- what he’s started to call their baby girl -- is born.  
  
They found out it was a girl two months ago. Wolfgang is careful not to say the name in front of Anja, who refuses to talk about names and sees him very rarely; when she does, he makes sure not to say anything that upsets her -- or her mother, who she’s staying with, who hates him zealously. (“She’s only eighteen, you pig,” was how she greeted him initially. He nodded and said, “Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Aydoğan.”)  
  
He looks again at his watch and grimaces slightly, checking ahead as he turns down an exit. He recalls the doctor’s office being nearby, but he can’t remember the exact street, and he left the slip of paper with the address at the station. He searches his memory and decides the street started with an S, and angles down the first one that fits this requirement; he breathes out in relief when he sees the small clinic and parks quickly, then goes inside and looks around the waiting room for Anja. When he doesn’t see her, he assumes that she has already been led inside an exam room and his eyes flash in concern at the impression he’s leaving.  
  
He never worried about this until prenatal appointments.  
  
He approaches the check-in desk and asks, but the nurses shake their heads so he takes a seat, brow wrinkled. He waits nearly twenty minutes before Anja comes in from the street, hair flying, scowling gently.  
  
“Traffic,” she grumps at him.  
  
“Yeah, that’s why you leave early--”  
  
“Shut up, I barely sleep, I was taking a nap,” she interrupts, hoisting her purse higher on her shoulder.  
  
He nods, unwilling to reply and start a public argument. He follows her to the check-in desk and one of the nurses looks at them unhappily, but nods her head in the direction of the door to the left and guides them to an exam room. A doctor, never the same one, comes in after an uncomfortable moment of shifting in their seats.  
  
“You are...six months along, okay,” he says quickly, shutting the door. He pats the examining table. “Hop up.”  
  
Anja does, leaving her purse in her seat, and tugs up her shirt expressionlessly. Wolfgang folds his hands lightly, one over the other, and glances down. The doctor looks between them, as the others have done.  
  
“What, no questions?” he says jokingly.  
  
“Read the chart,” murmurs Anja. “Eighteen, single.”  
  
“Ah,” says the doctor. “Well, I answer questions no matter what…” He dispenses some clear gel on her tummy -- which captivates Wolfgang the way a strange movie might -- and begins to move the transducer along it. “Okay, six months, little girl…”  
  
The last ultrasound that Wolfgang’s work would allow him to make it to was over three months ago, and it showed something vaguely human...a shadow of a head, a lizard-like body...but this one is distinctly a baby and his breath stops for a moment.  
  
“Oh, fuck, that’s…” he trails off and the doctor chuckles.  
  
“Yes, your daughter,” the doctor says, zooming in. “She looks great, just great...uh, a little small, but nothing to worry about…”  
  
“How big is she?” asks Wolfgang quietly, reminding himself that Anja wants to give her up for adoption, that he shouldn’t let himself get attached.  
  
The doctor shrugs. “Oh, about the size of a… cantaloupe.”  
  
Wolfgang nods and nudges Anja. “We’re having a cantaloupe.”  
  
She eyes him and gives a grudging smile.  
  
“Have you thought about what you'd like with childbirth?” the doctor directs at Anja.  
  
“I want all the meds,” she replies.  
  
“In the hospital?” asks the doctor.  
  
She nods. “Yes, no doulas, no hot tubs, none of that…”  
  
Wolfgang glances at her, then at the monitor, and again at her. He hesitates, but the words are out before he can stop them. “Do you want to schedule it?”  
  
She squints. “What?”  
  
“So I could ask for the day off,” he explains. “I can’t leave work if I’m on a job--”  
  
She rolls her eyes and turns away so he stops speaking. He looks down, slightly stung, and nods bitterly. The doctor doesn’t comment and prints out several photos of the ultrasound, handing two each to Wolfgang and Anja. Ten minutes later, after blood work is drawn, he and Anja walk out of the clinic, both holding the ultrasound photos.  
  
Wolfgang glances at his, and the next morning, looks at it again on the fridge at the fire station where he put it up with a magnet. The guys have rallied around him, all excited to hear about Ella, especially Will and Felix, who has begun to accept the idea of his irresponsible brother having a baby.  
  
As Wolfgang sips his coffee and prepares for his shift, he smiles gently and touches his finger to the photograph.

***

  
**13:08, 18 September 2010**  
**Mumbai, India**  
  
Kala digs her nails into the soft vinyl of the exam table as a needle pierces her arm. She grits her teeth and wrinkles her nose, tired of being prodded and stuck and X-rayed. Her insistence that she and Rajan both see their doctors led to months of unanticipated testing. She feels now that she should have known better since fertility is complex, but she forces herself not to dwell, because today is the moment of truth according to her doctor, a balding man with hands that slightly shake.  
  
Rajan, after being left to sleep alone for five days, wisely did not discuss Kala’s disinterest in sex with any of the doctors, but she feels a restless energy emanate from him today. She senses he’ll bring this up if the news is bad as a last-ditch attempt to find an explanation.  
  
She glances at him as the doctor pulls the needle away.  
  
“What is this for?” he asks, gesturing at the syringe full of blood.  
  
“Oh, this is routine blood work,” the doctor replies. “I have to chat with the lab and then I will talk to you and your wife...”  
  
“Is -- is the news good?” he asks hesitantly.  
  
Kala notices the doctor’s lips quiver, but he shakes his head and smiles reassuringly. “As I said, let me talk to my technicians…”  
  
He leaves them alone together in the small, bright room, decorated with several plants and landscape paintings. There are detailed diagrams of the reproductive system that Kala studied nervously but curiously whenever Rajan was out of the room. She’s grown too familiar with this room, the plants and paintings, the unpalatable diagrams. She feels she’s spent more time here than the temple, but when she expressed this to Rajan, he said “you yourself said it is time for a scientific approach, Kala.” She can’t argue, but she feels overstimulated by drugs and experiments; she feels that her feet need to feel the earth again.  
  
“I don’t think the news is good,” she murmurs quietly to Rajan. “Did you see how his mouth twitched?”  
  
Rajan pulls her closer from the side and rubs her arm. She exhales, waiting; her existence for four months has been waiting, pacing, checking her phone obsessively for messages from the clinic. All the tests before have been “inconclusive” and the doctor merely recommended to keep trying, advice which Kala has refused except for one night that involved three glasses of wine.  
  
“We can’t know,” says Rajan.  
  
“If he tells us again that the results are unclear, I am going to request he proves he actually attended medical school,” whispers Kala. “This is becoming difficult to believe.”  
  
“These things are complex,” replies Rajan.  
  
Kala’s eyes flash at this needless response and she reaches into her purse for her lip balm, distracting herself. She crosses her legs and glances around the room again, sick of it, and shakes her head slightly as if this will dissuade her impending headache.  
  
The doctor reappears and Kala holds her breath, sitting forward. Rajan takes her hand but she pulls away and digs her nails once more into the vinyl. The doctor sits across from them, still studying his chart, and sighs audibly.  
  
“Alright, I’m afraid the news is not good,” he says, looking up and adjusting his glasses. “Mrs. Rasal, you have hyperprolactinemia, which is a kind of hormone disorder--”  
  
Kala frowns and interrupts, “I read about that. I don’t have those symptoms--”  
  
“Ma’am, we discourage patients from doing independent research, you don’t have the sufficient background to understand these things,” says the doctor. “You mentioned your menstruation is irregular--”  
  
“Somewhat irregular--”  
  
“Kala, let the man finish!” says Rajan, laughing. “I’m sorry, my wife is very sensitive lately.”  
  
Kala’s nose wrinkles in anger. The doctor waves the apology off and continues, “This is a disorder in which your pituitary gland produces excessive amounts of the hormone prolactin...and combined with your mild hypothyroidism, well, it explains your infertility. I understand this is very difficult to hear, but you do have options…” He shuffles his papers and Kala stares listlessly at his hands as they tremble and reorder the notes. “Now, of course, we will start a hormonal therapy along with two drugs, nothing serious, however we do want to do a small exploratory surgery--”  
  
“I am not doing that-”  
  
“Ma’am, you may have a small tumor on your thyroid--”  
  
“No,” says Kala flatly.  
  
Rajan clears his throat at her but she ignores him.  
  
“I don’t recall having a single symptom--”  
  
“Well, for one thing, your decreased sex drive,” says the doctor casually.  
  
The words echo. Kala looks from the doctor to Rajan and for a moment experiences a feeling of falling, as if she’s in her childhood nightmare where a bridge collapses from under her.  
  
“You did not tell the doctor that without asking me,” she says, voice deadly quiet.  
  
Rajan hesitates, and then he takes her arms and squeezes them. “My dear, I felt I had no other choice, you were not mentioning it and I felt it was relevant--”  
  
“No,” breathes Kala, getting up, vitriolic. “How dare you?”  
  
“Ma’am, try to calm down, he was correct that it is relevant and you’ll be relieved to hear that the treatment will help that too--”  
  
“It is not relevant!” shouts Kala, turning and facing the doctor. “I have always felt this way, always, it is not a symptom!”  
  
“Yes, well, there are women who are attracted to other women, but that’s nothing the right medication and a night with a real man won’t fix, am I right?” says the doctor, adding the last part to Rajan with a jocular smile.  
  
Kala stares, staggered, then silently collects her purse and her jacket and walks out of the room. Rajan calls after her and begins to follow, so she begins to run, disregarding what the patients in the waiting room will think.  
  
She hurls the door open and goes out to the street, flagging a taxi, and gets into it before Rajan can reach her.

***

 **21:13, 19 September 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**  
  
Wolfgang bites his lower lip, touching up one of the more poorly-drawn treble clefs on his sheet music, and takes a drink of beer, reevaluating the chord pattern of the song he's writing. He picks up his guitar and goes through the circle of fourths, trying to resolve the measure, and is about to try out an A7, but there’s a knock at his door.  
  
He hangs his head, swearing quietly, and sets his guitar aside. He opens the door to find Anja, tearful, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“My mother and I keep fighting, can I sleep here? Bri’s got her boyfriend over and--”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, opening the door wider to let her in.  
  
“Thanks,” she says, slipping inside and shedding her jacket. “Wow, you don’t have a girl over?”  
  
He gestures, unamused. “Want to fight with me too? No? Then stop talking and go to sleep.”  
  
She meets his eyes and shakes her head slightly to convey her disappointment, then sighs and walks into his bathroom. He hears the shower turn on and he sits down, working again on his guitar, more slowly, reflecting. He supposes he should be more understanding; he knows that getting pregnant has irreparably damaged Anja’s relationship with her mother and he knows she’s shamed on a daily basis. He also knows that she’s in constant pain from working on her feet all day at the market as a cashier. He’s offered to give her more of his savings, but she’s always declined; he’s sure this is because she knows he can’t truly afford it.  
  
He exhales and sets his guitar aside, finishing his beer. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be pregnant, but it’s clearly fatiguing and frightening, and he reminds himself that if Anja was the love of his life, he’d be overprotective to the point of being annoying; he would ask her how she is every hour, he would rub her feet, he would work a second job. He gets to his feet and goes into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, unsure whether she prefers it with cream and sugar; despite having a child with her and knowing her for almost a year, he doesn't know who she is or what she likes.  
  
He sets the tea by the bed and returns to his guitar. She comes out of the bathroom after five more minutes, and he glances over his shoulder to see her wrapped in a towel, hair dewy. Her tummy is huge, even under the bulky towel.  
  
"You're not bad," she says, tilting her head at the guitar.  
  
He hesitates, surprised. "Uh, thanks."  
  
"Yeah," she says. Her gaze lands on the tea and she softens, crossing the room. "Can I borrow a shirt?"  
  
He gets up and joins her by his dresser. He takes a big tee-shirt out of one of the drawers and hands it to her, his gaze lingering on her stomach. She thanks him quietly for the shirt and drops her towel. He can't help staring at her breasts before he looks away and he feels his cock twitch in his pants.  
  
"You've seen me naked before," she says as she puts on the shirt. "New and improved tits though, am I right? Actually they hurt like hell and they're making my back go out, but..."  
  
Wolfgang is unsure what to say since something suggestive might anger her, so he just murmurs, "Three more months..."  
  
She groans and gets under the covers, and he exhales, resigning himself. He locks his front door and puts out the light by the sofa, then joins her in bed, staying on the edge.  
  
"I can sleep on the couch," she mumbles as she takes a sip of the tea he made her.  
  
"You're pregnant, don't worry about it," he replies.  
  
" _You_ could sleep on the couch," she says.  
  
He shrugs. "It's too short. It's okay, I'm not going to try anything..."  
  
"Yeah, I'm the size of a whale, don't worry, I know nobody's looking at me that way," she says with a humorless snort.  
  
He raises an eyebrow at her in the dim light. "Fuck off, you're gorgeous."  
  
She shakes her head, eyes downcast, and pulls the covers more comfortably over her. "You're just saying that--"  
  
"You know I don't just say things," he interrupts softly.  
  
He wishes conversations like this came more naturally to him. He knows he's too brusque, too abrupt; he hopes he can develop some more empathy, some more unqualified kindness, by the time the kid arrives.  
  
"Hey," she says cautiously, touching her foot to his leg. "You want to feel? It's weird, you can feel her kick sometimes..."  
  
She hasn't let him do this yet, reluctant to behave like a couple or a mother. He notices his breath has stopped and he's grown slightly chilly. He nods and the corners of her mouth twitch in a smile. She sits up, groaning quietly, and shifts so she's closer to him.  
  
He meets her eyes briefly before sliding his hand over the balloon of her tummy; he softens instantly at the contact, chuckling.  
  
"Huh," he murmurs, fascinated.  
  
She leans into him and he puts an arm around her to hold her up.  
  
"Yeah," she says, adding as she glances up at him, "Sorry about yesterday, the way I looked at you when you asked about taking work off, I just...I don't want to pretend this is something that it's not. It's a mistake."  
  
"I know," he replies, moving his hand lower and thumbing her distended bellybutton.  
  
"Here," she says, lifting her shirt so he can touch her underneath it.  
  
"It's harder than I thought it would be," he remarks.  
  
She laughs. "Haven't you felt a pregnant woman's stomach before?"  
  
He shakes his head. "No, never held a baby either."  
  
She hums in thought, eyes still on him, and then she trails her fingers along his jaw and turns his head so he looks at her.  
  
She doesn't speak like he was expecting her to, so he knits his brow slightly. She shakes her head, smile fading, and looks down.  
  
"No, it's stupid," she mumbles.  
  
"No, what were you going to say?" he asks.  
  
She shrugs. "That this is nice. I know we're not together and you probably hate me but--"  
  
"I don't hate you," he replies.  
  
She breathes out through her nose like she's trying not to laugh. "Uh, I do sort of hate you, but I guess you're not all bad." She shrugs again. "You actually seem to care about this which I can't figure out."  
  
"I don't want to be like my family," he admits.  
  
"What were they like?" she asks.  
  
He shakes his head. "Don't want to talk about it."  
  
"That bad?"  
  
"Yeah," he says shortly.  
  
"I'm sorry," she says, leaning her head on his shoulder.  
  
He continues to move his hand over her tummy. "Speaking of that, why the fuck are you staying with your mother?"  
  
She tongues over her bottom lip. "I don't know. I -- I needed someone I could trust to go through all this."  
  
"Okay, but she treats you like shit for a stupid mistake--"  
  
"Sex isn't a mistake, it's a big fat sin," snorts Anja.  
  
He shakes his head in frustration at this mentality and pats her belly before withdrawing his hand.  
  
"Thanks for..."  
  
He trails off and she nods, smoothing the t-shirt over her stomach again. He watches her for a moment, noting the dark bags under her eyes, and takes a calming breath.  
  
"You can stay here," he offers. "I'm barely here anyway--"  
  
"But we're not together, we don't even like each other," she interjects.  
  
"I know," he says measuredly. "But you're having my kid."  
  
She breathes out and meets his eyes again, thoughtful.  
  
"Better than your mom calling you a slut all day," he adds.  
  
Anja rolls her eyes. "It's funny considering the last time I had any sex was with you..."

"You haven't had sex in six months?" he asks faintly.  
  
"Do the math, I'm pregnant and I live with my mother," she retorts.  
  
He frowns in agreement, then looks at her, musing. Everything in his experience tells him that having sex with her is a bad idea, especially if she ends up living with him.  
  
He ignores all this. "Want to have sex?"  
  
"That took you long enough," she mumbles, shifting on top of him.

***

 **13:52, 18 September 2010**  
**Mumbai, India**  
  
Kala’s taxi pulls alongside Dandekar Restaurant and she gets out with a soft thank you to the driver. She spent the ride seething, composing her words to her father so he fully comprehends the potency of Rajan’s betrayal and why his treatment of her has been inexcusable for months; she can no longer keep their failing marriage to herself, and for the first time, she is ready to live with the consequences of the unabridged truth.  
  
She goes inside the restaurant, eyes flashing, and passes several patrons to reach the entrance to the kitchen. She goes inside and sees her father at the stove, chatting with one of his sous chefs, and she stops, setting her bag down hard.  
  
Sanyam glances up, startled, and pauses his motion of stirring a pot. Kala tilts her head apologetically for the dramatic entrance, then begins to cry. She suspected the sight of her father would provoke this. She shakes her head rapidly, heat rising in her cheeks as she whisks her tears away; the other cooks look away, embarrassed for her, and Sanyam quietly crosses the kitchen to Kala and guides her to the supply closet.  
  
“Kala?” he says gently.  
  
She shakes her head again and hugs him tightly. He clicks his tongue sadly on his teeth and strokes her hair.  
  
“Oh dear,” he murmurs.  
  
Kala sobs loudly and he hugs her more tightly.  
  
“What happened, my dear?” he asks.  
  
Kala sniffles miserably. She hasn’t hugged her father like this since she was little.  
  
“I don’t think I can stay married to Rajan,” she says into his chest in a high, breathy voice.  
  
“Alright, slow down,” says Sanyam soothingly, nudging her away so he can look into her eyes. “What happened? I thought you were supposed to be at the doctor’s office.”  
  
She nods, wipes her cheeks, but when she goes to speak she dissolves into even more hysterical tears. Sanyam rubs her arm reassuringly and squeezes it as he passes her.  
  
“I’ll get you some tea,” he tells her quietly.  
  
She stands among the spices, hugging herself, and focuses her energy on anger rather than grief. By the time her father returns, she is still crying, but not so incoherently. She sits on a barrel of rice and cups the mug of steaming chai in her hands. Sanyam sits on a barrel across from her and gently squeezes her elbow.  
  
She inhales, a few heavy tears collecting on her eyelashes, and shrugs. “I cannot have children, Dad...the doctor just told me. But that isn’t why I’m crying.”  
  
“You can’t?” asks Sanyam in surprise, voice still warm. “Is this for sure?”  
  
Kala breathes out hard. “I would have to take so much medication and they want to do surgery. I... I'm not attracted to my husband and I can't take years of treatments. I can't, I've sacrificed enough already.” She drinks her tea and tucks her hair behind her ears, leaning her head back and breathing slowly to soothe the ache in her chest. “I know you may not understand, and I would talk to Mom but I feel more comfortable with you...when I married Rajan I told him that I wasn’t...well, capable of feeling attraction to any man. And he said he understood. But now he’s told my doctor and that has become a symptom, not...not an identity...and I can’t continue like this.”  
  
She forces herself to meet her father’s eyes, though she’s terrified of what she just disclosed. But Sanyam smiles patiently and nods.  
  
“I see. Is it -- and I know, this may be too much for your mother but we will find a way to say it -- is it because you like women?”  
  
Kala looks at her father with intense respect and begins to cry in earnest again. The fact that he would ask this in an empathetic tone tells her all she needs.  
  
“No, but it’s similar,” she whispers. “I don’t like anyone, not in that way...maybe if I got to know them, but I do know Rajan, and the feeling has never come. It would be one thing if having a child was simple but I feel I’ve given up too much, I’ve given him t-too much…” She breaks into sobs again and shakes her head, face bent towards her lap.  
  
Sanyam reaches and rubs her shoulder. “Beta, it’s alright.” He pauses and says more coldly, “He should not have told your doctor this without asking you. Those matters are private.”  
  
“I was so angry that I left and I came here in a taxi,” she admits feebly.  
  
He nods. “I understand. Try not to worry. Would you like to stay here with me and your mother?”  
  
Kala nods vigorously and Sanyam pats her shoulder. “Okay. I’ll bring you up some lunch soon, just go upstairs. And if he comes here?”

“I don’t want to see him,” says Kala quietly. “Not today.”  
  
“Then I won’t let him in,” says Sanyam with a small smile.

***

 **11:07, 21 September 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**  
  
Wolfgang surveys the water tank on the truck, checking for structural deficiencies, while Felix examines the tires. Morning duties include a daily assessment of their equipment, along with training and a workout, as if the job itself wasn’t taxing enough.  
  
“You just had to fuck her,” Felix is saying, shaking his head as he presses his thumb into the side of one tire to check air pressure.  
  
“She’s having my kid, she needs a place to stay,” replies Wolfgang, marking a note on his pad of paper. “It’s nothing more than that, who cares about sex?” He shrugs. “It makes her feel better, says it makes her cramps go away.”  
  
“You gonna raise Ella with her?” asks Felix unsurely. “You don’t love her, man, you need to think about that.” Then he pauses and directs a frown at his friend. “Wait, what did you just say? She’s having my kid, it’s nothing more than that? Okay...Wolfie, c’mon, having your kid is...it’s a fucking lot.”  
  
“Yeah, but I don’t love her,” says Wolfgang.  
  
“So, you’re not sleeping around or…?”  
  
“We’re not together, we can both do what we want.”  
  
Felix tips his head back and rolls his eyes. “So how does that end? You know how that fucking ends. She realizes you’re incapable of having a relationship and you never see that kid again. They always end up with the mom, you know that.”  
  
“Anja doesn’t want her,” replies Wolfgang.  
  
Felix’s sigh of frustration echoes in the cold garage of the station. “Wolfie, c’mon, you’re living together. She’ll have Ella and you’ll both get fucking stuck, like my parents, your parents, all the parents who fuck up and won’t fucking face that they aren’t supposed to be together.”  
  
Wolfgang tosses his notepad onto the counter nearby and rubs a hand over his face.  
  
“Look, we don’t love each other, but Ella deserves two parents--”  
  
“Yeah, maybe two parents who aren’t you!” says Felix, voice soft but insistent. “Look, you gotta think about the kind of people who would adopt her, they’d have money, they’d give her everything--”  
  
“Or she’d get stuck in the system until she’s too old to have any hope in it,” interrupts Wolfgang.  
  
“You two doing okay?” calls Will from the bridge above the garage.  
  
Felix and Wolfgang look at each other apologetically and both soften, breathing out. Wolfgang rubs the back of his head and nods at Will, who waves them up from the garage.  
  
“C’mon, we have lunch,” he says, walking out of view.  
  
“Sorry,” mumbles Wolfgang at Felix as they start towards the rough metal stairs.  
  
Felix shrugs. “Love you man, don’t want you to regret any of this…”  
  
“I know,” Wolfgang says earnestly as he takes the first step. He shakes his head. “I’m trying to make this work.”  
  
Felix doesn’t reply. Wolfgang reflects for a short moment on the consequences of all he’s done, on the future, on what a typical day might be five years from now. He would rather raise Ella alone than drive her back and forth from Anja’s apartment. He would rather struggle with the bills than have Ella see her parents fight.  
  
He has no interest in staying with Anja and he knows she feels the same, but he’s afraid a child will keep them entangled.  
  
They reach the break room, where Will -- at the station despite it being his day off -- is distributing flatbread and curry to the other officers and to Riley and Luna, who have stopped by.  
  
Riley gives Wolfgang and Felix a characteristic, nose-wrinkling smile.  
  
“Been a while,” she says in her Icelandic lilt, eating a big bite of aloo gobi.  
  
Wolfgang nods. “Yeah, hey. How are you?”  
  
She holds up the “perfect” symbol with her fingers while she chews a bite of potatoes, then swallows, laughs, and smiles excitedly. “Good, really good. How’s your girl?”

“She’s--”  
  
But his words are cut off when five-year-old Luna breaks free from Will’s attempt to feed her a piece of flatbread. She hugs Wolfgang’s leg fiercely and grins with missing teeth.  
  
“Hi,” laughs Wolfgang, ruffling her sandy blonde curls.  
  
“Hi!” shouts Luna, then moves to Felix and asks to be picked up by lifting her hands over her head.  
  
Felix snorts and does what she asks, settling her on his hip. “Hey Lu-lu, heard your birthday is this month, that right?”  
  
Luna nods. Riley smiles and nods too, taking a step towards Felix to rub her daughter’s back. She glances over her shoulder at Will and grins. Wolfgang watches them, both bright-eyed and bursting, and he glances down, suddenly empty, envious. He knows that what he and Anja have is how broken families begin.

***

 **19:38, September 21 2010**  
**Mumbai, India**  
  
Two days with her parents has done little to soothe Kala’s stomach. She spent many hours in bed, staring, listless. Her mother assumed it was due to the news the doctor gave her and tried to comfort her by reminding her that treatments exist, but she is more upset at Rajan than she is at her inability to have a child, and she is more upset at herself than she is at Rajan.  
  
She knows that refusing to marry him was not impossible, but she was twenty and his interest in her was, as one aunt put it, a blessed surprise. His money would carry her family for their lifetimes and, according to everyone, he was a good man, a good provider, a leader. But not everyone spent a night next to him. Not everyone experienced his duplicity and self-importance.  
  
She wishes her word alone was enough. She wishes she did not have to amass evidence that she deserves more in a man, or that she deserves time to understand herself, to find the girl she was before duty stained her self-conception. She wishes, most of all, that she was seen as complete without a husband; complete without children; complete, just for being.  
  
Tonight, wrapped in a towel after a long soak in the bath, she overhears an unwelcome, familiar voice at the foot of the stairs. She tells herself she should cross the hall and go to sleep, but she lingers, listening to Sahana Rasal, Rajan’s mother.  
  
“--refuses treatment, then my son deserves more,” she is saying. “Marriage means children. And I’m sorry if she’s sick but if there is something that can fix it--”  
  
“She’s tired,” interjects Rajan. “Give it a few months.”  
  
Kala stiffens at the idea of giving any more of her life to this cause, to this man.  
  
“You deserve more than that,” says Sahana briskly. “She is your wife--”  
  
“She is also my daughter,” says Sanyam heavily. “And she is a sister, a niece, a cousin, a friend. She is more than a wife or a mother. She is Kala. Just herself. This is no more your decision than it is hers -- in fact, it is more her decision than it is yours.”  
  
Kala’s heart clenches and she hears her mother-in-law tut.  
  
“This became my son’s decision the moment Kala married him--”  
  
“As if marrying him changed her?” asks Sanyam and Kala detects heat in his tone. She suspects he’s observed her for the last two days and made his own determinations about her relationship with Rajan. “She is entitled to her own decision about this.” He lowers his voice but Kala catches most of it. “She is not obligated to give either of us grandchildren -- who wants a grandchild to be born out of obligation? No, I want my grandchild to be born from love. And if that is not how she feels about you-- I see your face, Rajan, I’m sympathetic -- but if that is not how she feels, then it is not how she feels.” There is a heavy pause, and then Sanyam says, “I would appreciate it if you gave her space until she is ready.”  
  
“We will go,” hisses Sahana.  
  
Kala lingers in the hallway and hears the door below shut. She is too fragile and too full of thanks to speak directly to her father. But when she enters her bedroom and gets under the covers, she closes her eyes, envisioning introducing him to a man she truly loves, and she smiles.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kala faces the first few months in a new city and Wolfgang makes the biggest decision of his life.

**2:19, 22 December 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**

Wolfgang puts his hand up to his air mask, shading the blaze so he can make out the structure of the house. He swears softly and glances at Will, who shakes his head.

“I can’t find an opening!” he shouts.

“Me neither!” says Will over the radio they all share.

Wolfgang switched to the night shift in an attempt to help Anja more during the day and has learned two things: Berliners light more things on fire at night, and the human body can survive a surprisingly long time on an hour of sleep and a gallon of coffee.

Will motions everyone closer to the fire and directs Wolfgang and Felix around the back with the rest of the search team.

“Not looking good,” says Wolfgang seriously.

Felix grimaces behind his mask. “Shit, yeah…”

“Best shot is the sliding door there,” replies Will. “Bogdanow, Schmidt, Hoffman, enter that way.”

“Pretty fucking smoky,” observes Felix.

“Rope,” asks Wolfgang, reaching his hand out for the search rope on Felix’s belt.

Felix nods and begins to unspool it and Wolfgang clips it to himself, then approaches the door; it is off-kilter, the plastic of the frame melted from the heat of the fire. He steels himself and knocks the butt of his axe through the glass until he creates an opening large enough to step through, and the other members of the search team follow him, also connected to ropes to follow back out if the visibility becomes too reduced.

“Fuck,” murmurs Wolfgang, adjusting his eyes to the light of the conflagration.

The kitchen, as expected, is consumed and the flames have extended into the living room and the floor above.

“This whole thing’s coming down,” says Hoffman.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” agrees Wolfgang, lifting his searchlight. “Hoffman, down the hall, Schmidt garage, I’ll go upstairs.”

They other two men nod and Wolfgang goes upstairs, unsure that the steps are structurally sound. He doesn’t care -- the call came from the house, not from a neighbor, which means at least one person is trapped here. The heat upstairs is intense in his protective gear and he’s so exhausted that his oxygen tank is an unbearable weight.

“Garage clear,” reports Schmidt over the radio.

“One in the hall, exiting now,” replies Hoffman. “Eh, Bogdanow?”

“Clear so far,” says Wolfgang.

Then he reaches the landing of the stairs and sees a figure collapsed on the hall of the second floor. His exhaustion vanishes as adrenaline springs in his blood. He rushes up the final steps and sees it’s a woman, in a position that suggests she was climbing the stairs when she fell. He quickly passes her, determined to check the other rooms -- she wouldn’t have gone upstairs during a fire if there wasn’t someone else to save.

Two of the bedrooms are empty. The door to the third is shut and locked. Wolfgang slams himself against it and knocks it off its hinges. Inside, he finds a young boy in his pajamas, cowering near the open window, coughing.

“I have two,” reports Wolfgang on the radio.

“You need to hurry up,” says Will worriedly.

Wolfgang cautiously approaches the boy, who on closer inspection he sees is crying.

“We’re here to help you,” he says. “We found your mom, alright? We’re going to get you both out.”

The boy nods rapidly, terrified. Wolfgang kneels and quickly affixes a mask over the boy’s nose and mouth, then picks him up. He hurries back towards the stairs, where he kneels to lift the woman over his shoulders, and follows the rope back through the smoke, which is thicker. He feels the house shift and crackle, the beams shifting.

“Bogdanow, the fuck are you?” shouts Will over the radio.

Wolfgang breathes steadily through his air mask. “Almost out.”

The rope, despite being a mere foot from his eyes, is difficult to see in the black smoke. He realizes his original entrance is now impassible and his eyes flash in controlled alarm. He pauses very briefly, recalculating, and the ceiling of the living room falls. His heart jumps in his chest.

“Door is out,” he says over the radio, unhooking the rope as it will no longer help. “Trying the garage.”

“We’re trying to gain access!” yells Will. “Where are you?”

“Hall,” says Wolfgang, “Downstairs.”

“It’s all coming down!” shouts Felix. “Fuck!”

Wolfgang walks around the burning support beams that fell and reaches the garage, which now is in flames as well; he’s just stepped past the car when the ceiling creaks and a chunk of insulation falls on him.

“By the window!” he says.

He throws his axe against the glass to create a large opening and sees Felix and Will on the other side. He puts the boy through the opening so that Will catches him, then lifts the woman through it into Felix and Hoffman’s waiting arms. They rush her towards the ambulance on the road. Wolfgang jumps up on the workbench below the window and steps through the glass, landing outside on the grass. He doubles over as he catches his breath, but Will urges him away from the house with the little boy.

When they get several yards away, the house crumbles entirely, with a great groan. They pass the brigade of hoses and two ambulances come into view. Wolfgang stops, watching Felix press a defibrillator to the woman’s chest; he notes Hoffman shaking his head and sees Felix try the last time before setting the paddles aside.

His chest convulses as he looks at the boy in Will’s arms, who is watching the scene with confused, petrified eyes. Will exhales, pained and Wolfgang shakes his head gently.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

The boy begins to cough again. Will and Wolfgang look at each other, both jaws clenched.

“Hey,” Wolfgang says finally, voice scratchy. “I bet your eyes sting from all that smoke...you know what helps? Just close them, okay, and don’t open them until I tell you to, alright?”

Will looks at him in surprise and nods to show his approval. The boy listens, putting his hands over his eyes, and they walk him quickly past his mother, Felix, and Hoffman. They load him into an ambulance with an unconscious man who is being given oxygen, the father Wolfgang assumes. The EMTs take the boy from Wolfgang and begin to examine him.

“Okay, open,” says Wolfgang dully.

The boy opens his eyes, looking around frantically. “Where -- where’s my mom?”

Wolfgang glances at the EMTs and communicates the news with the smallest shakes of his head.

“Don’t worry,” one says. “We’ve got to get you and your dad to the hospital. She’s in good hands.”

They shut the doors and the ambulance pulls away. Wolfgang looks down, breathing out hard. “God. Fuck.”

“I know,” says Will, glancing behind him at Felix and Hoffman, who have just loaded the woman into the other ambulance and covered her with a sheet.

They don’t speak again, joining the water squad to finish extinguishing the fire.

***

 **2:19, 22 December 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**

Kala pours a glass of wine and curls up near the fire as a snowstorm rages outside her window. Her flat is still sparse and mostly unpacked, but she knows that soon it will feel like home. She is the architect this time, the one who will pick each belonging, each paint color, each dish she cooks and each memory she makes. She knows it’s cliche, and perhaps a dangerous idea to get attached to, but this flat feels like a new start.

She sets her wine down on an unpacked box and flexes her left hand, staring at her fourth finger, unadorned by a wedding ring. Rajan’s insistence that she seek treatment, spurred by his mother, led quickly to a falling out -- not the mature, mutual agreement to separate as she had hoped.

Her own family, besides her father, was disappointed but did not blame her the way Rajan’s family did. They did not suggest that a Karmic imbalance led to her infertility or that she deserved the shame that was liberally heaped upon her by neighbors when the news of the divorce became public.

The whispers and mumbles reached her daily. At first, it was veiled sympathy.

_Oh how tragic, that young girl, and so lovely too!_

_What a shame, they would have had a beautiful family…_

_One of only two daughters, her poor parents, they must be devastated._

_What a burden for her sister, to provide all the children in the family…_

The gossip darkened, however, after only a few days.

_But surely something can be done. Hasn’t she had treatment?_

_I hear her husband asked her but she’s too afraid._

_Really quite selfish…_

_Has she no sense of duty?_

From neighbors and distant aunties, the criticism was bearable. But it was less so from Rajan and his mother. Sahana made it clear that Kala thought only of herself -- “a greedy reprobate” was one of the last and more severe comments made. Rajan made it equally clear that he could not, or would not, understand anyone’s perspective but his own. The final confrontation, which on her part was quiet but ferocious, happened on a Tuesday evening during a dinner she had been reluctant to attend. Rajan insisted that it was a good-faith effort by his parents to move on from the crisis, and they maintained civility at the table. But afterward, when everyone retreated to the den for drinks, the temper changed.

Kala had gone to the restroom, and when she returned, she stopped just short of the doorway at hushed voices.

“--simply do not see what she objects to, it is a routine surgery and the doctor knows best,” Sahana was saying.

Rajan sighed. “I don’t understand it, Mother, but I can’t pressure her more than I already have--”

“Oh, pressure,” snips Sahana. “She is your wife. Tell her to go to the doctor.”

Rajan snorted. “Yes, surely the strongest marriages are built on ultimatums.” Kala felt a flicker of respect for Rajan, which was extinguished seconds later after another sigh, the sound of his glass being refilled, and the concession, “But I suppose you’re right, this charade has gone on long enough.”

“Yes, as if she’ll divorce you,” says Sahana. “She can’t divorce you, in fact, she has no claim to make against you. It’s not wrong to use that to your advantage, Rajan. You deserve a wife and a family and she agreed to give that to you!”

“Well, yes, but if she can’t--”

“She doesn’t know if she can’t,” interjects Manendra. “You have barely scratched the surface. Look, even if she cannot have a child, she can’t object to a surrogate.”

“Yes, even if it’s not her child,” agrees Sahana. “It matters that it is your child, Rajan. For the company.”

Kala has heard most of this before, though it was never put so explicitly. She was prepared to enter the den, give Rajan a look that communicated it was time to leave, and never speak of the night again. But then Sahana added a final, unforgivable observation.

“What else is she doing?” says Sahana with a casual laugh. “She is at home all day -- the home, by the way, that you provided for her...having children is what she is for, Rajan. I know we’ve raised you with a modern mind, we even hire women at the company, we aren’t that conservative. But she isn’t one of these new generation girls we hire. She’s a chef’s daughter. And believe me, she will remember that the moment you suggest you’ll leave her.”

Kala, without realizing it, had entered the den at the words _what she is for_. Rajan saw her and began to rapidly shake his head, begging her not to confront his mother -- another confirmation that he would never find it within himself to defend her.

This angered her more than the words and her eyes kindled dangerously.

“Mrs. Rasal,” she said softly. “Since your son is easily influenced and cannot or will not defend himself or this marriage, I will. I appreciate your concern that I am not behaving as a proper wife. I would like to remind you that Rajan and I agreed to get married. Rajan and I. Not you and my parents. _We_ did, and any disagreement we have is _our_ disagreement.” She caught herself before her voice rose any higher, and went on in a breathy, quick snarl, “Are you the one married to Rajan? Are you the one considering dangerous and irreversible treatments? This is not up to you, and neither is the fate of our marriage. You have seriously misjudged what I am willing and not willing to do.” She took her shawl and her purse off the chair nearby, adding as she swept from the room, “A divorce scares me far less than an unhappy marriage.”

She stayed with her parents after this, and only a month later, was granted a divorce. To the dismay of Mrs. Rasal, infertility in either spouse was reason enough for the courts to accept a divorce. Rajan expressed that he was disoriented by how quickly Kala was moving on. She retorted that their marriage began to fail the day it began.

It took her the last six months to stop feeling sick over her decision, and she’s sure it will take years more to fully accept herself. On nights like these, when she is alone and soothed by a glass of wine, she doesn’t believe what she was told. She does not believe she is broken or that she’s being justly punished. But other nights, she believes that both those things are true, and she has found only one thought that comforts her. If she _is_ broken, if she _does_ deserve a life alone, then she may as well give in and accept it. 

She stopped praying when she moved away and let herself exist in the loneliness of disbelief. She refused to live as she did before when that brought nothing but failure and rejection. She misses the comfort that belief brought her but she’s sought comfort instead in books, stories, conversations with strangers. She decided the moment her plane touched down that she would accept input and influence from much more varied sources than before; she decided this was the only way to find a new conception of herself. 

She strived for her entire life to do what was right. She isn’t sure now what is right, but certainly, it is not blind selflessness.

She tugs her blanket higher and sips more wine, listening to a distant siren.

***

 **3:57, 22 December, 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**

Wolfgang takes off his jacket as he enters the dark station and stretches his shoulder, then pulls at the sweaty fabric of his blue t-shirt. He and the others ascend the stairs silently into the kitchen and Will takes a bottle of expensive scotch from under the sink. He pours everyone a shot and distributes them. Each man throws it back without having to ask what it’s for and then they disperse, continuing their duties.

Wolfgang started at this station when he was nineteen and over three years, he’s seen thirty casualties since most of the calls they respond to are medical emergencies. Will told him when he started that it doesn’t get easier, and he was correct. He saw different kinds of death in his early life. He wonders if the cops and firefighters that arrived whenever his mother called for help experienced the same powerless grief. He remembers the men and women who looked at him the same way he looked at the boy in the ambulance tonight, and he reminds himself that, despite the fear and horror of the moment, these smiles and words of comfort did work.

He thinks of Ella and presses his teeth together.

During his first interview, years ago, he remembers giving a perfunctory explanation why he wanted to be a firefighter. When Will pressed him, he expressed that no one could understand the value of this work more than him; he feels even more strongly now that he has a child.

He takes a long breath as he goes to his bunk to search for a hoodie, chilled from riding in the drafty fire engine while sweaty. He notices his phone on his bed and he picks it up automatically to check for notifications. Eighteen missed calls, five messages. His breath stops.

_Anja, 1:02 -- I think I’m having contractions? Not sure, I’ll keep you posted._

_Anja, 1:26 -- Ok I definitely am, I’m freaking out, where are you?_

_Anja, 1:30 -- I called an ambulance. Where are you??_

_Anja, 1:36 -- Are you on a job?? UGH_

_Anja, 3:45 -- We’re both ok. We’re at Franziskus-Krankenhaus._

Wolfgang’s hands shake. His stomach falls and he is gripped with such intense anticipation that he feels sick.

He throws his phone onto his bunk and pulls on his hoodie. Then he pockets his phone and walks blindly out of the dorm into the kitchen, where he sees Will refilling the dish soap.

“I -- Anja -- I have to go, she had the baby,” he says quickly.

Will fumbles the soap and his eyes widen. “Fuck, go!”

Wolfgang nods, calling over his shoulder, “Tell Felix!”

Will shouts back a hurried, “I will, congratulations!” as Wolfgang descends the stairs at a run.

He hurries to his car parked behind the station and throws himself into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and flicking on the defrost. He texts Anja while he waits for his windows to uncloud.

_Wolfgang, 4:08 -- Was on a job, sorry, driving there now._

He breathes hard as he pulls out of the parking lot, forcing himself to focus on his driving despite his agitation and distraction. The hospital is only minutes away and he reflects, as the red light turns and the snow glows green, that this is likely the same hospital the victims from the fire he just fought are at; his daughter may be only floors above the woman he watched die, the son and husband whose lives are permanently changed.

He exhales gently, fingers going loose on his steering wheel, and gives a small shake of his head. He likes control. He likes to fix things. Since he learned he was going to be a father, however, he has tried to let go of this mentality; he’s always known, though never accepted, that life is disobedient, a pinball machine with paddles that are too small or too weak to direct every ball to the right place. He has some control, some ability to shape life like he likes; but he’s beginning to believe that this ability reflects a fraction of the control that life itself has.

He considers for the briefest moment, as he finds a place to park at the hospital, that his daughter did not ask to be brought here, to be confronted with questions of control or fate, of life or death. And as he throws his door open and steadies himself on the walk across the icy lot, he promises that he won’t leave her alone to decode these things the way he was left.

***

 **3:57, 22 December 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**

Kala yawns, sliding down the couch so she’s on her side, debating whether she should sleep here or force herself to go to her bed. She isn’t used to being up this late, but tonight, something pulls on her.

She was lonelier when she was married to Rajan, though she wasn’t alone so often, though she was in a city where she spoke the language. She finds, for the first time in her life, that she likes solitude and quiet, and the snowy fall and winter has provided that for her. She’s always cold and sometimes her heart pangs for her father’s cooking, but she realized when she left Mumbai that she needed space. She needed time to find what she wants in life.

She was still undecided if she wanted children when she left Mumbai, which made her unsure if infertility was a true loss. This uncertainty irked her so she devised a plan.

Without an education and intent on supporting herself in a new city, she decided to become a teacher. She started in London, but when she learned that most of her tuition would be covered in Germany, she switched her studies to Berlin. She decided to focus mostly on childhood development so, in the event she hates working with actual children, she could write articles.

The courses, so far, have involved enough psychology and medicine to keep her interest piqued and she tries to be optimistic that she could have a career in this. It helps to have a classmate that she can call a friend, though she hasn’t known him long -- Hernando, who comes over weekly to exchange notes and flashcards. Being twenty-two, Kala is older than most undergrads, but her soft features hide this and it reassures her that Hernando is older too, having switched from philosophy to world religion to gender and sexuality studies and finally to early childhood education because “children know more than any of us!”

Kala smiles to herself at the memory of this conversation and sips her wine, stretching in front of the flames, and takes an Audre Lorde book off a box on the opposite side of her couch. Beyond being a valuable resource for flashcards, ceviche recipes, and movie recommendations, Hernando has proved useful with providing interesting books.

She flips to the page she left on and sinks deeper in the couch under an extravagant, furry blanket that she bought out of sheer impulse alone. She smiles slightly.

***

 **4:18, 22 December 2010**  
**Berlin, Germany**

Wolfgang finds his chest tight and his hands tingling slightly as he steps up to a directory in the hospital. He’s earned several curious looks, he assumes due to his strong smell of smoke, but he ignores this, his eyes rapidly searching the list of departments. He finds prenatal care listed on the fourth floor and breathes out heavily.

Will mentioned to him a few weeks ago that none of it would feel real until she was actually born -- advice he shrugged off and now realizes is keenly true. He tries to steady himself before getting in the elevator, but he quickly gives up. His nerves are going nowhere. He wishes they were due purely to excitement, but he knows this isn’t the case. Suddenly the prospect of looking into Ella's eyes and holding her for the first time debilitates him.

She’s a human being, entirely helpless, and she’s his responsibility.

He rubs his hand over his stubble and tips his head back as the elevator carries him to the fourth floor. He sets his jaw as the doors open and forces his concerns to the back of his mind so he doesn’t come off so wrought up.

He reaches the nurses’ desk in the center of the floor and leans his elbows on the counter.

“Hi, I’m looking for Anja Aydoğan--”

“And you are?” asks one of the nurses, shifting some files.

“Her -- I’m the baby’s father,” he decides on.

The nurse nods and takes some paperwork off a filing tray. She opens it up and glances at him. “ID?”

He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, hands over his ID, and she nods. “Okay.” She gets up, waving him with her, and he walks behind her past a large glass window, behind which are two dozen incubation cribs with swaddled infants in each. He breathes in, eyebrows perked slightly, but the nurse continues to a private room.

“Everything went alright according to the obstetrician,” the nurse tells him as she opens the door. The lights are low and Anja is asleep on the hospital bed, back turned towards them. “We did give her a sedative,” the nurse adds in a whisper. “She was quite emotional after delivery, it happens sometimes, so she’ll probably sleep until morning…”

Wolfgang nods and then he notices a crib; inside of it is an impossibly small baby, swaddled in a mint green blanket, wearing a tiny pink cap. He stops moving, unable to look away, eyes wide, bright, and slightly afraid.

“3.1 kilos, 48 centimeters,” says the nurse kindly. “Do you want to hold her?”

Wolfgang doesn’t answer and approaches the crib, looking into it with a tilted head and furrowed brows. She’s asleep, very wrinkled, with puffy cheeks and slightly tawny skin; he sees a wisp of bright blond hair under her cap and he brightens helplessly.

“Sir?” checks the nurse. “I’m sorry, her mother didn’t want to hold her, I was hoping you would.”

Wolfgang looks at her, frowning slightly at what this information implies, and then he nods. The nurse comes over and lifts Ella out of the crib, then passes her gently into his arms. He carefully supports her head, which isn’t bigger than a nectarine. He breathes out, staggered by how small and light she is; he studies her features and recognizes a distant glimmer of his mother in them, and then the dam breaks and his shoulders soften under the weight of this moment.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, dazed, lifting her closer.

“I’ll give you some time,” the nurse says with a smile.

His gaze snaps onto her again. “How -- how do I feed her if she wakes up?”

The nurse directs a finger at a bottle of formula on the bedside table. He nods unsurely.

“Just ring the bell if you have a concern,” she reassures him.

He nods again, eyes lingering on her as she leaves and shuts the door. Then he looks back at Ella, who has started to squirm slightly from the noise of the door shutting.

“Oh shit no, no, shh,” he murmurs, alarmed.

He’s reminded that he has no idea how to take care of a baby, let alone a crying or distressed one. He glances at Anja, who is still heavily asleep, and experiences a stitch of panic. He tried to accept over the last months that she would be apathetic if not absent, but now that the baby has arrived, the prospect of being the only one she can rely on daunts him.

Ella opens dark blue eyes and blinks, fussing, and starts to cry. Wolfgang’s eyes widen and he grimaces gently, bouncing her.

“What?” he whispers. “What’s wrong?”

He knows it’s pointless to ask but he hopes his voice soothes her. She keeps crying so he leans and reaches for the bottle of formula, then pauses, unsure whether the temperature is right. He exhales, then sets her in her crib. This prompts her to cry as loudly as possible.

“Okay, I only have two hands,” he murmurs, quickly checking the temperature of the milk, which is a little cool. He isn’t sure how to remedy this at the moment so he picks her up again and coaxes the bottle up to her toothless mouth. “Is this what you want? Huh?”

She’s turning bright red from the effort it takes to cry, but after a moment, she latches onto the bottle and looks at him with what he’s sure are grumpy, accusatory eyes. He smirks.

“You don’t have a lot of patience, do you? Wonder who you got that from…”

He uses his thumb to shore up the blanket she’s swaddled in and stares down at her, eyes growing soft and pensive. He expected to see her for the first time and be consumed with worry that he can’t possibly provide for her, but this was not his first thought -- his initial response wasn’t a thought at all, but a surge of love, more pure and powerful than anything he’s felt before.

He breathes out, thinking briefly how opposed this feeling is to Anja’s plea that they give Ella away, and then he walks slowly to the window to look out at the storm.

***

The next afternoon, Wolfgang props his door open for Anja while she muscles the baby carrier through it. She lets out an exasperated huff and sits on the couch, head tilted back, and covers her face. He glances at her, then at Ella in the carrier, who is nursing quietly on a pacifier.

“Do you want anyth--”

“No,” snaps Anja.

Since early morning, she’s been hostile and short-tempered. He’s sure she’s more exhausted than she ever has been, and probably sick with shame considering her mother refused to meet them at the hospital, but he expected her to provide a calmer environment for their newborn.

“I’m going to sleep,” she adds, slumping on the couch and pulling a blanket over the back to cover herself, including her head.

“Right,” he murmurs.

He’s drained as well. He was up all night and he spent the day asking the obstetrician questions while Anja screamed at her mother on the phone in rapid Turkish. He only got half an hour of respite when Felix showed up. It doesn’t help that he has a sprained ankle, a consequence of responding to the fire earlier in the night. He only noticed after several hours at the hospital, too focused on Ella.

“Right _what_?” Anja hisses from under the blanket.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, crossing the apartment to the kitchen to make something to eat. Ella fusses in her carrier and he glances over his shoulder at her, then slides a pot of water onto the stove and searches the cabinets for a box of pasta or a packet of soup.

Ella starts to cry and Anja groans loudly.

“Can you get her?”

Wolfgang breathes out and walks up to the carrier, then lifts it and walks back to the kitchen, careful not to put too much weight on his ankle. He sets the carrier on the counter and rocks it gently, watching Ella, searching for any sign of true distress. She ate only an hour ago, so he doubts that is the issue. He frowns, closing his eyes in resignation, and leans forward to sniff her. She smells clean so he tries to soothe her by gently tickling her tummy.

She stops moving and hiccups, wrapping her chubby, fleece-encased arms around his hand and keeping it close. Her crying abates and she studies his knuckles.

“Uh, okay,” he mumbles, taking some dried soup out of the cupboard with his left hand. Cracking safes in his early life made him fairly ambidextrous, but it’s still difficult to cook one-handed while keeping an eye on a baby.

Ella sneezes and he glances quickly at her, frowning. This morning the obstetrician informed them of typical newborn behavior and she pointed out that Ella’s nose is very small and easily clogged. He raises his eyebrows at Ella nonetheless and she yawns. He looks away, fighting a smile, and reaches for a spoon to stir the soup.

Ella falls asleep after a moment and he gingerly withdraws his hand, then dishes up two bowls of soup. He leaves one by the couch for Anja and lights a fire in the woodstove, then sits on the floor next to it while he eats and sips on a beer. He keeps Ella’s carrier next to him and rocks it, gaze drawn to her every minute, nervous that something will go wrong without him noticing.

His phone buzzes and he looks at the text from Felix.

_Felix, 17:08 -- Things still ok? How’s Anja acting?_

He writes back: _She’s still being a bitch…_ then deletes the last three words and instead sends _she’s still in a bad mood._

_Felix, 17:09 -- Maybe she needs sleep? Idk man. Ella ok?_

_Wolfgang, 17:09 -- Think so. She eats a lot._

He watches Felix start and stop typing. When there is still no text after three minutes, he glances away and takes a long drink of beer. The phone buzzes.

_Felix, 17:14 -- Decided what you’re going to do?_

Wolfgang breathes out and leans his head on the wall, staring listlessly ahead at Anja’s hand, which peeks out from under the blanket on the couch. He doesn’t want to be her boyfriend, but he doesn’t want to abandon her if she wants to stay. He finishes his beer and gets up for another, pausing in the hall to turn up the heat.

When he sits down again, he texts Felix: _No fucking idea._

Bringing Ella home, only for a day, makes him uncomfortable with the prospect of giving her up for adoption. He feels that should have taken place at the hospital if it was going to happen at all, though he knows this is irrational considering Ella won’t remember a moment of being a baby. He looks at her in her carrier, then closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, sensing a headache from exhaustion.

As soon as he finishes his soup, he moves her carrier to beside his bed, lays down on top of the covers, still in his clothes from last night, and falls immediately asleep.

An hour later he breathes in and sits up at the sound of crying. His shoulders crumple slightly and he sighs, sliding his legs off the bed. But Anja is up, milling around with a cup of tea, and she reaches Ella first. She sets her mug aside and picks her up. Wolfgang watches her closely as she stares at their daughter. Her expression is lifeless and despairing; her bottom lip trembles and she shakes her head, starting to bounce Ella.

Ella quiets slightly, but Anja starts to sob. Wolfgang exhales, annoyed but sympathetic, and gets to his feet.

“I’ve got it, it’s fine,” he mumbles at Anja, taking Ella from her.

She covers her face and sits on the couch again, then slumps over her lap and her shoulders shake violently.

“I can’t do this!” she whimpers. “I can’t believe you talked me into this...”

Wolfgang doesn’t reply, blinking tiredly as he fumbles around the kitchen for a bottle of formula. Ella shrieks in his ear and he winces, returning her to her carrier. This apparently angers her because she cries even louder, which Wolfgang was not prepared for considering her size. Anja cries more loudly too and Wolfgang nods, resigning himself to this circus, and finds the container of formula.

He mixes some up after squinting at the instructions in the low light, then returns to pick up Ella and cradle her as he sits on the edge of his bed. She drinks greedily, quieting, and he shakes his head at her. Anja keeps crying, eventually dissolving into an overwhelmed cough, and Wolfgang glances at her.

“You should eat something,” he says.

“Don’t talk to me,” she says dully.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asks, then forces himself lower his voice when Ella squirms unhappily. “Can’t you pull it together?”

“You ruined my life,” she says.

“This was your fault too, Anja--”

“You t-took advantage of my trust,” she sobs.

“I was an asshole and I’m sorry but it’s not only on me that you got pregnant,” he says flatly.

She turns on the couch and stares at him angrily, tears glistening in the light reflecting off the snow outside. “I never would have slept with you if I knew you weren’t serious about me--”

He snorts. “We hooked up because you stopped by the station asking for directions. You’ve got to be kidding.”

Ella whimpers and coughs slightly around her bottle.

“Don’t scare the baby,” hisses Anja.

“Yeah, you care so much about the baby,” he retorts.

“I do care, I just don’t want a baby!” she yells.

He shakes his head. “Shut up, go back to sleep.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she murmurs, sliding back down on the couch so she disappears from view.

He breathes out, reflecting on the toxic environment their dynamic would create in the future for Ella. He touches her nose apologetically while she nurses from the bottle.

“Sorry,” he says, softly so Anja can’t hear. “We’re stupid kids. And now we have a kid.” He pauses, staring at Ella’s expression; the misguided hope that everything will work out leaves him like a last breath. “We fucked up. Yeah. We did. You deserve better than us. You do.”

She makes a tiny, grunting noise as she finishes the bottle and he sets it aside. She blinks at him, her hairless brow wrinkling as she studies his face.

“Look, it’s true,” he insists to her. “I’m poor and irresponsible as shit.” He pauses again. “See, I’m swearing around you and you’re only a day old.”

He realizes that he’s talking to her because he feels less lonely with her -- a completely mute and undeveloped infant -- than he does with Anja. Ella blinks again, uncomprehending, and he shakes his head softly and returns her to her carrier. He lifts this onto the bed so he can watch her, then pulls his laptop from his bedside table.

He Googles “Germany adoption” and when he finds all the links relate to adoptive parents, he types in “Germany orphanages” and his eyes flicker in annoyance when he sees that most of these are about post-war conditions in orphanages. He’s interested in one thing only -- if the care in orphanages is good enough to consider for Ella.

He researches for a few more minutes, and still frustrated that he hasn’t found answers, types in the most obvious search term he can think of. “Germany orphanages abuse rates.” And then he stares at the results with a look of weary consternation, shuts the laptop, and tosses it aside on the bed.

He rubs his face. He isn’t surprised that Germany, like the rest of the world, has a problem with this. He tells himself _at least_ _it isn’t Russia_ and then reminds himself that Russia is a poor referent for most everything. He breathes out, exhausted but agitated. He looks at Ella, her dark eyes collecting light from the street outside. At least she would be safe with him, at least what happened to him would never happen to her…

He shifts down on the pillows and turns on his side, then puts a hand on the edge of her carrier to rock her to sleep. Despite his stormy thoughts, he falls asleep quickly. Ella wakes him up two more times -- around four a.m., he digs around his bathroom cabinet for a sleeping pill, hoping the next time she fusses he’ll doze through it and she’ll soothe herself back to sleep.

The next time he wakes, it’s fully light. Ella is asleep in her carrier, sucking her thumb. He sits up and blinks, disoriented from his spotty sleep schedule, and glances at his watch. It’s seven and he wants more sleep, but he supposes he should get up and prepare for the draining day to come, so he pads softly into the kitchen. His ankle is worse, which he elects to ignore. He yawns and shakes some coffee out of a canister into the coffee machine, prodding the start button impatiently. He turns and leans on the counter, and then his eyes widen in alarm.

The couch is empty, and on the coffee table, there is a note.

He looks wildly to the right and sees the bathroom door is open, unoccupied. He looks back at the note and sets his jaw before limping up to it. It’s short and next to it is two twenty-euro banknotes, presumably all Anja could spare.

He picks the note up.

_W --_

_I can’t do it. I’ll only make everything worse. Do what you want with Ella because I’m not coming back. I’m moving in with some friends in Turkey so don’t try to contact me. I already told my mother and she doesn’t want anything to do with you or Ella. Good luck I guess._

_Anja_

He stares and presses his thumbnail into the paper so it crinkles. He knows that he shouldn’t be surprised, that he should be relieved, but the reality that he is alone in this crushes the breath out of his lungs. Ella starts to cry and he glances at her, deflated and acutely insecure. He tells himself that he still has options, but he knows he's already made the decision -- he's going to raise her himself, for better or for worse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella starts school, and Kala and Wolfgang meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to skip ahead 5 years instead of showing a series of moments from Ella's first few years...but those will be shown in flashbacks, so just wait <3

_Five Years Later_

Wolfgang sticks a purple spoon into a dish of cereal and glances around for his five-year-old daughter, who moments ago was lurking in the kitchen and squeezing her favorite stuffed bear. She’s out of sight now, which unsettles him.

“Ella?” he calls quietly.

“Here!” she shouts from her room.

He picks up his coffee and the cereal, crossing the apartment. It’s slightly bigger than the studio she spent her first two years in, though the neighborhood is no improvement. He glances into her room, painted turquoise at her request, and sees her sitting in a pile of socks. He raises his eyebrows.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Picking,” she replies, sorting through the socks to find a matching pair.

He sets the cereal aside and leans on the doorframe, watching her with a smile while he drinks his coffee. She shoves her blonde curls out of her eyes repeatedly and casts several socks aside until her fingers latch around two yellow ones. They don’t match perfectly, but they’re close enough for her taste, because she tugs them over her feet.

She looks up at him with bright blue eyes, then sees the cereal on her dresser, jumps up, and scampers to it. She stretches to reach it and tilts it so some milk spills.

“Ella,” Wolfgang murmurs, taking the bowl and handing it to her.

She beams up at him, eating the cereal while standing. “Can we leave yet?”

“Eat that first,” he says.

He puts down his coffee and goes to pick up the socks she tossed haphazardly around her room, then puts her pillows back into place on her bed. He takes the sippy cup of apple juice that she asked for at eleven last night -- not a sip of it gone -- and rolls his eyes as he carries it to the kitchen.

He’s just put it into the fridge when Ella appears next to him, her cereal bowl now empty, her eyes more eager than before.

“Now?” she asks.

She’s been fidgety since last week when he told her she’d start kindergarten, and she counted down the days until today -- Friday, the day she gets to meet her teacher and see her classroom for the first time.

Wolfgang puts the cereal bowl in the sink and kneels in front of her, adjusting a button on her corduroy overalls that she fastened incorrectly. He frowns at her hair and tugs on it from either side. She grins at him with a missing front tooth and he smiles softly.

“Okay,” he says, reaching into his pocket for a hair tie -- something he always has on him now -- and puts her hair up in a messy bun. “Go get your shoes.”

She runs out of the kitchen and returns with her shoes after a moment, then presents them to him.

“You have to try first,” he tells her.

She pouts and plops on the kitchen floor, working the sneakers over her feet and fussing with the laces.

“Do you remember?” he asks as he turns to finish the dishes.

“Um,” she murmurs. “Make an X...”

She works at it for a moment, and then he glances at her laces, which are tangled. She meets his eyes, embarrassed, and shakes her foot for his attention. He dries his hands and kneels by her.

“You have to learn this,” he says, tying her shoes for her.

“Why?” she grumps. “I like my _other_ shoes.”

“Those are Velcro, that’s too easy for you,” he replies.

“I don’t care it’s easy,” she tells him. “It works.”

He pauses, unsure how to argue with this logic, then squeezes her feet through her shoes. “Okay, but you have to learn how to tie your shoes so you can tie other things.”

“Like what?”

He breathes out. Ella always asks questions until she’s satisfied with his explanation, which he knows is a good trait, but it often makes him feel insufficient and, somehow, less intelligent than she is.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But learning to tie your shoes...makes you smarter. It’s like solving a puzzle.”

She eyes him warily, searching for dishonesty, but then she nods and hops to her feet. He crosses his arms and looks at her.

“Backpack?” he asks.

She nods.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

She shakes her head. He frowns.

“I want to keep tasting the cereal, papa--”

“You’re gross,” he informs her, shoving her gently towards the bathroom.

“No,” she huffs.

“Yes,” he says, going into her room to wait for her.

He picks up her bright yellow backpack from beside her bed and checks it for a notepad and pencils, and sees she’s stuffed her favorite toy bear inside too. He smiles at this and zips the bag, then looks out of her room and sees her brushing her teeth in the hall, dancing unsteadily to an imaginary beat. He tips his face down to hide a laugh.

He spent the first six months of her life reading obsessively how to get her to go to sleep, and it seemed the moment he discovered the right approach, she no longer had trouble sleeping through the night; the next six months was an exhausting process of trial and error with getting her to smile, giggle, or otherwise show any sign of contentment -- the books told him some babies are naturally grumpy, but this worried him; like her sleep patterns, however, the grumpiness resolved itself as soon as he felt he understood it.

As a toddler, she spent her time exploring everything she wasn’t allowed to touch and every place she wasn’t allowed to go -- there were only two near-misses: one involved a metal chopstick and an electrical socket, and the other had to do with ice, stairs, and an overly-exuberant response to seeing snow. In both cases, he grabbed her wrist before she seriously hurt herself, and both times, she looked at him with a disgruntled expression, as if he interrupted her unnecessarily.

Year three involved a trip to the doctor’s office because she shoved a Lego up her nose and he couldn’t reach it with tweezers, and a trip to the hospital because she ate exactly 3.24€. By the time she was four, however, she stopped trying to get his attention by doing dangerous and destructive things. He hopes this is because he stopped giving her attention when she did things like this and not because she felt defeated or ignored. She was never talkative, never friendly with other kids, but she became even less so last year -- she learned to occupy herself for hours, coloring, building with blocks, living out stories she constructed in her mind.

Seeing her so excited to start school took him off guard. Will suggested her attitude changed because she finally has a purpose, but he’s not sure five-year-olds understand “purpose” beyond ruining carpets with grape juice, inexplicably yelling “no!” at innocent pigeons, and staying up all night out of sheer spite. He may not be able to explain her excitement, but he’s relieved by it.

He lifts his gaze and sees she's still in the hall, still dancing. She turns, freezes at the sight of him, then giggles madly before dashing out of sight. He grins and laughs, putting down her backpack, and follows her into the bathroom. She’s climbed onto the counter to rinse the toothpaste out of her mouth instead of using the stool he bought her.

“Ella,” he says, gesturing at the stool.

She jumps down from the counter, unfazed, and looks up at him in anticipation.

He has to smile. “Ready?”

She grins and nods hard. He glances at his watch and gestures at her to follow him to the door, where he pulls her jacket off the hook and helps her into it. She takes her hair out of the bun he put it in and her curly hair falls over her face.

“Ella,” he murmurs.

She hastily tucks her hair behind her ears and grins.

“Okay,” he says, standing up. “Your fault if you run into something.”

She shrugs, unconcerned, and follows him into the chilly morning. He locks the door and she trots in front of him; he smiles hard to himself when she waves enthusiastically at the neighbor.

“Hi--” she begins before stumbling straight into the side of Wolfgang’s car and falling.

He runs to pick her up. “Ella, baby, watch where you’re going--”

“I’m okay,” she chirps.

“Shit, okay, you sure?” he asks.

She nods, grinning, then pounds on the side of the car, asking to be let in. He rolls his eyes and unlocks it, then helps her into her carseat. She stretches her toes and kicks her feet lightly, looking around, and he sets her backpack next to her.

“You know you’re just meeting your teacher today, right?” he asks.

She nods. “I know.”

“No kids yet,” he goes on, brushing some dirt off her cheek from the fall.

“I know,” she sighs.

He raises his eyebrows gently, but her expression remains fixed. He gets in the front seat and looks at her in the rearview mirror.

“Why are you excited?” he asks, unable to help his curiosity.

She perks her brows and blinks, then shrugs.

“You don’t...like people,” he reminds her as he pulls away from the curb.

“I like you.”

“I’m not people. I’m your dad.”

She contemplates this. “You don’t like people.”

He chuckles and mumbles, “I like you.”

“I’m not people,” she repeats.

He glances at her again, smiling, and says, “Yeah. You’re not.”

Then he touches his fingers to the heat to dial it up, rubs a hand thoughtfully over his stubble and breathes in, smiling slightly.

***

Kala hisses as her coffee topples over the counter and she lunges for a towel. She looks frantically at the clock, exhales in frustration, and leaves her thermos overturned. She hastily puts on her shoes and coat at the door, then tugs her bag off the hook and hurries to the U-Bahn.

Her alarm didn’t ring due to an unexpected power outage, which is not ideal considering today she has to meet with the parents of all her students for the upcoming school year. This is only her second year teaching, and though she feels exponentially more prepared than she did last Fall, she still feels somewhat unqualified and doubtful.

She swears softly in Hindi, hearing the train approach as she descends the stairs. She hastens her pace and flies through the doors of the train after validating her pass, then looks at the slender watch on her wrist and closes her eyes. Her first appointment is in fifteen minutes and she’s learned that most Germans are punctual and rather bad-tempered with people who aren’t. She shakes her head softly to clear her mind and puts in her headphones, selecting some soft piano music. She leans on the pole she’s holding onto for balance.

The train lurches forward and she glances at her feet, searching for a semblance of energy, strength, excitement. She worked too hard on her syllabus -- for children too young to appreciate a lesson plan, much less one that is color coded -- and now she wishes she took Hernando’s advice to take a short vacation in August.

She drifts on the music until the train slows at her station, and then she jogs up to the street, across it, and into the kindergarten she works at. It’s slightly too small for her tastes and located further from her apartment than she’d like, but it was the only one willing to hire her as a full-time teacher rather than an assistant. One year of being a teacher’s assistant during school was enough to tell her that she wasn’t good at taking orders, especially from someone with only marginally more training than her.

It didn’t help that the children tended to respond more favorably to her, which made the head teacher jealous. Hernando told her this was a good sign, that she’d succeed on her own as a teacher, but it took the entirety of last year for her to accept that children do like her, that she does have a way with them. She knows now that she only doubted herself because of what she had been told, because she still identified as abnormal, as not quite complete.

She gives a quick smile to the receptionist and takes her earbuds out, then ducks into the bathroom to apply some lipstick. She’s sure she’s late, sure some disgruntled parents are waiting at her locked door, but she takes a moment to breathe and psych her own reflection up. The first few days are the hardest, and she hopes, eventually, she’ll grow to like them.

The door opens and she glances over to see Daniela, the woman who teaches the class next door to hers, and a close friend of Hernando’s.

“Damn girl, you’re late,” Dani murmurs, eyes widening. “I’ve already had two meetings!”

“I know!” Kala whispers miserably as Dani disappears into one of the stalls. “My alarm didn’t ring!”

“Well, get out there, someone’s waiting,” says Dani, voice echoing. “And by someone I mean a _hot_ fireman.”

“What?” asks Kala, wrinkling her nose in confusion. She sighs and makes a final adjustment to her lipstick. “Fine, alright -- are we still meeting Hernando at Babette?”

“Yep!” calls Dani.

“Bye!” replies Kala, hurrying out of the restroom and down the hall, hoisting her purse higher on her shoulder, eyes darting as she anticipates the man Dani described.

***

Wolfgang waits in the hallway of the kindergarten, outside classroom #108. Ella is nearby, exploring, and he’s waiting for the teacher, who is ten minutes late. He takes his phone from his pocket, browsing Tinder while he waits, and stops when he recalls he’s in a kindergarten, with his daughter, about to meet the first teacher she’ll ever have. He pockets his phone, then glances into the dark classroom through the window in the door. He can’t make out much detail in the gloom, so he looks at his watch, questioning if he got the day wrong.

Then he hears a soft, surprised, “Oh, hi!” from around the corner.

“Ella, wo bist du?” he calls.

He hears the patter of shoes and Ella reappears, followed by a young woman in a long eggplant-colored coat. Wolfgang breathes in, eyes widening -- warm skin, a tangle of glossy black curls, soft, full lips, and eyes like inkwells. He glances down, trying to transform his expression into a friendly, professional one. He didn’t consider the possibility that he would want to see Ella’s teacher naked.

Ella reaches him, smiling excitedly, and the woman catches up, slightly out of breath, cheeks dark from the chilly weather.

“Hi,” she says tiredly, walking forward to shake his hand. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I understand that doesn’t make a very good impression.”

Her hand is cold, but her voice sends a surge of heat to his groin. She’s right that being late doesn’t leave a good impression, but neither does getting hard. He focuses on her eyes instead of her lips and shakes his head.

“Haven’t waited long,” he tells her, stepping aside so she can unlock the classroom door.

She smiles thankfully and nods. “Good.”

She goes inside, taking off her scarf as she walks, and his gaze tracks the motion of her arms and her back. She sits down at her desk, flushed, and twists in her chair to put her coat over the back of it. He stares at the outline of her breasts through her shirt, then looks pointedly over her shoulder at a poster with the alphabet on it. She turns back to him and smiles again, unaware of his current desire to see her slowly unbutton her blouse.

“I’m Kala Dandekar,” she says, pulling a chart from her bag and looking at Ella, “and you must be...Ella, um, Bogdanow?” She looks at Wolfgang. “Did I pronounce that correctly?”

“Bogdanow,” he says, enunciating the _F_ sound at the end.

“Bogdanow...there you are,” she says, checking the name off her list. “My last name is rather difficult too, so most of my students just call me Miss Kala.” She looks at Ella with an inviting smile. “Is that okay with you?”

Ella nods and Wolfgang nudges her. “Try it out.”

“Miss Kala,” agrees Ella, adding with a tilt of her head, “your voice is funny.”

Wolfgang’s eyes widen slightly and he looks at Kala. “I’m sorry--”

Kala laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement. “No, no, it’s alright. I have an accent, I know, I’m from India.”

Ella studies her for a moment and murmurs, “Where?”

“India,” repeats Kala, rolling back in her chair to take a book from her bottom drawer.

Wolfgang frowns slightly, watching, and she flips the book open to a world map and points.

“Here. Mumbai, one of the cities.”

Ella looks where she’s pointing, and then Kala slides her finger up to Germany.

“And this is where we are right now. You have an accent too, but you don’t notice it, because most people here have the same one.”

Ella squints, her soft brows coming together, interested. Wolfgang watches her, smiling, and directs a warm glance at the teacher for her approach. She smiles too, then leans back and collects her papers, picking up her pen again.

“What is your name, and phone number please?” she asks him.

“Wolfgang,” he tells her, adding his number.

She nods, continuing as she writes, “And her mother’s name?”

He stiffens slightly and shakes his head. “She isn’t around.”

Kala looks up, eyes soft and worried. He notices her hold her breath for a moment. “Oh, I’m sorry. Will I be able to reach you at this number for emergencies?”

He nods and says, “I’ll give you my work number, too, if you want.”

She agrees and he gives it to her, watching her slim fingers and neatly manicured nails; he studies her delicate, slanted handwriting and smiles slightly as she writes his name next to the two numbers he gave her.

“Thank you for coming in,” she says as she looks up. “I like to get to know my students before everyone is together in a group since that is quite...chaotic.” She takes another notepad from her desk. “Can I ask you a few questions about her?”

He nods and she puts on a pair of bright red reading glasses, looking at her notes.

“Alright, can she go potty and wash her hands on her own?” she asks.

“Yes,” says Ella indignantly before Wolfgang can answer.

He eyes her. She raises her brows at him, unmoved by this unspoken rebuke, and Kala smiles gently, jotting this on her notepad.

“And she can unzip her lunch box, zip her coat, do buttons?” she asks.

“Usually,” says Wolfgang.

“And she can tie her shoes?” asks Kala.

Ella shifts in her seat and glances down.

“That’s okay,” Kala says, making a note and shooting a kind smile at Ella. “We’ll work on that.”

She reaches for a stack of construction paper, safety scissors, markers, glue, and glitter from a crate near her desk. She passes these to Ella and clears a section of her desk.

“Can you write your name on this, sweetie?” she asks. “You can use whatever colors you want, and draw on it! I’ll put it up on your cubby. That’s where you’ll keep all your things when you’re at school.”

Ella nods and begins to write her name in huge, loopy letters. Wolfgang watches this for a moment, smiling, and then breathes in and looks back at Kala. Ella has spent the last three years in daycare, and she’s always behaved well enough, but Kala’s energy assures him that Ella will be more comfortable here than she’s ever been before. He glances at Kala’s fourth finger, curious if she’s married, if she might have children herself.

“Does she have any allergies?” Kala asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“If she gets stung by a bee, she needs a shot of epi, I have a pen I can give you,” he replies.

“Oh, that’s fairly serious,” murmurs Kala, noting this. “She actually has an anaphylactic response?”

He nods, putting one of his hands on Ella’s head and thumbing over her ear.

“Okay, yes, I would like the pen -- and while we’re on the subject, you should know that we are trained in basic first aid and CPR and we have a doctor on site at the school,” she tells him, adding, “and we have more than one recess attendant, we’ve been rated very highly for safety. I imagine you’re rather safety-conscious given your profession so I thought I would, ah, reassure you - I’m sorry, this morning was very messy, I tend to ramble when I’m tired.”

He looks at her for a moment without responding, then glances down; his lips twitch, just enough to suggest a smirk, and he meets her eyes. “It’s okay.”

She flushes and nods, then checks on Ella’s progress with her name placard. Wolfgang looks at it too and sees that his daughter has written her name, with an exclamation and a heart, and drawn several creatures. He recognizes them as bunnies, but he’s not sure anyone else would.

“Oh, bunnies,” says Kala delightedly and he stares at her. “That looks beautiful! I like those colors. What is your favorite color?”

Wolfgang frowns slightly, marveling at how naturally these words leave her lips.

“Yellow,” says Ella, nodding.

“I like yellow too,” agrees Kala, taking the placard from her and getting up. “Follow me, I’ll show you where you can hang this!”

Ella nods, following her, and Wolfgang leans back, more impressed than he would admit out loud. Ella hasn’t asked “why” or said “I don’t want to” yet -- he’s sure these five minutes is a new record. He watches as Kala points out a row of cubbies and Ella selects one on the end. Kala bends over and affixes the placard; he stares at her ass, then reminds himself again that he’s in a classroom, and forces his gaze to the ABC poster.

Ella comes back and climbs into the seat next to Wolfgang and Kala sits across from them again.

“Now I have a small worksheet,” she says, extracting some papers from a drawer. “I like to get a sense where my students are at in reading comprehension, basic shapes, colors, things like that.”

Wolfgang nods unsurely. Kala hands the papers to Ella, then goes with her to a nearby table and helps her sit down. She gives her a pencil and squeezes her shoulder, then returns to her desk and tucks her hair behind her ears.

Wolfgang realizes he’s staring at her again so he averts his gaze.

“Is she your only one?” asks Kala warmly, reaching into her bag and uncapping a bottle of orange juice.

He glances up and nods, smiling. “Yeah.”

“She looks just like you,” says Kala, glancing at Ella across the room.

Wolfgang follows her gaze, watching his daughter intently pencil in an answer.

“What happens if she fails that?” he asks.

Kala smiles as she takes a sip of juice. “There’s no failing. If she does poorly, I’ll spend more time with her on difficult concepts and pair her with students who understand things better. Has she shown any comprehension issues?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I was never a good student.”

“Well, learning at this age is very different from studying,” says Kala. “We don’t expect complete understanding or memorization. It’s very conceptual at this stage, and of course it’s as much about social growth as it is academic growth. We do a lot of work outside, and with animals, and take plenty of field trips...the philosophy is to expose her to a wide variety of stimuli and let her respond naturally...”

She trails off, looking at Ella, who is fussing to make her bushy hair stay behind her ears. She tilts her head and smiles knowingly, then gets up and takes two clips out of her desk. She approaches Ella and kneels, and Wolfgang watches as she gestures with the hair clips. He sees Ella nod enthusiastically and sees Kala grin and slip the clips into Ella’s hair so it’s out of her face. Kala asks if she can see now and Ella nods in confirmation, so she stands up and returns to her desk. Wolfgang realizes he hasn’t taken a breath for a moment, too absorbed by this interaction, but Kala doesn’t notice this.

She takes out yet another sheet of paper and continues as if she never got up. “Speaking of field trips, would you be interested in volunteering for one?”

He isn’t interested in a field trip, but going on one will give him an opportunity to get this woman in bed. He nods automatically, then silently curses himself; having an accidental baby did nothing to decrease his tendency to make decisions with his cock instead of his brain.

“Oh, good,” she says. “We have...the aquarium, the natural history museum, a planetarium, and...” She pauses, looking over him, and tongues cautiously over her lips. “Ah, I hate to ask but...children love visiting fire stations--”

He shrugs. “Station chief loves kids, I’m sure he’d say yes.”

She brightens and writes this down. “Oh, thank you so much...”

He tries to gauge how likely she would be to sleep with him in exchange for this favor. Based on her tone of voice, he decides this has definitely improved his chances.

“They could come on one of the fire engines,” he adds, in case the original offer wasn’t enough to convince her to take her clothes off.

She smiles brilliantly. “Oh, that would be perfect.” She glances at Ella to check on her, then looks at Wolfgang and says, “Alright, you probably know, but we like to make sure parents are well-informed...this is a bilingual classroom, we use both German and English, and this...” She pulls a list from her desk and hands it over, “is a list of books and movies we access, last year there was some controversy because one of these includes same-sex parents and another includes an interracial couple and--”

“And crybaby assholes couldn’t handle that,” he says, nodding. He hands the list back. “I’m not worried about anything like that.”

She breathes in, presumably surprised by his language, and nods. Ella reappears and presents her test to Kala before getting back in her seat. She looks at Kala anxiously and Wolfgang watches her cautiously. She tends to pride herself on her cleverness and if she did poorly, he’s sure she’ll cry and ask for another chance. His gaze drifts to Kala as she looks over the papers, and after a moment her brow wrinkles, but she smiles.

Wolfgang opens his mouth to ask _how bad?_ but he stops himself, deciding he should give his daughter the impression he expects her to do well.

“How’d she do?” he asks instead.

Kala’s smile widens. “Uh, very well, do -- do you read to her?”

Wolfgang takes a moment, surprised. “I try to every night, yeah.” He knows he likely overcompensates when he picks her up from daycare -- he cooks dinner with her help, watches the show she wants to watch, plays songs for her, and reads to her until she falls asleep. “She can read some books now.”

Kala perks her eyebrows. “That’s wonderful! What books?”

He shrugs, thinking, and Ella pulls _Der Regenbogenfisch_ from her backpack, then hands it to Kala with a grin. Kala grins back and flips through the glossy pages.

“Ooh, this is a good one,” she murmurs.

Wolfgang smirks gently. “Apparently it promotes socialism.”

Kala laughs and wrinkles her nose. “What?”

He laughs too. “I don’t mind, but it does--”

“It promotes _sharing_ ,” she says, amused. “You sound like my friend. He studied literature before becoming a teacher and now every children’s book is subject to this deep analysis...” She trails off, smiling, and glances at Ella. “Which animal is your favorite character?”

“The octopus,” says Ella, nodding. “What’s so-so-lism?”

Kala grins and meets Wolfgang’s eyes, then says softly, “It’s a type of economy. You’ll learn about it when you’re older.” She hands the book back and looks back at Elsa’s test, quickly continuing, “Oh, I see you wrote down you like to dance...we have an after-school program here where you learn ballet, would you be interested in that?”

Ella opens her mouth excitedly but Wolfgang puts his hand over hers so she stops. He leans forward slightly and asks, “Does that cost anything?”

Kala’s brow flickers sympathetically and he regrets his brisk tone.

“No, it doesn’t,” she says. “And if -- well, I imagine you work past the time the school day ends?”

He nods, watching her.

“Well, she could be in dance class for an hour, and after that, we do have a free daycare service,” she tells him.

He glances down and nods again. “Yeah. I work until 6.”

“That’s alright,” says Kala kindly.

“She’s used to being away from me, she’ll be okay,” he adds.

“I’m sure,” says Kala, but he catches a glimmer of pity in her expression and he tenses.

Ella seems genuinely well-adjusted to him, except for the fact that she’s somewhat antisocial. He doesn’t feel guilty that she doesn’t have a mother, and although she has fewer toys and clothes, she’s never seemed at a disadvantage. He’s never let her feel inferior because they can’t afford much, and she’s never complained or asked for more -- it’s other people, mothers, babysitters, and teachers, who express how hard it must be for her, and he wishes they wouldn’t give her this idea.

“She’s okay,” repeats Wolfgang with a slight bite to his voice. “You said yourself, she tested well, she--”

“I wasn’t implying anything,” Kala interrupts softly. “I just imagine it’s difficult sometimes.”

He sits back and raises his eyebrows. “It’s not. We’re better off without her mother.”

Kala stares, then breathes in quickly, looks away, and busies herself with some papers. “I’m sorry, I assumed that her mother passed away.”

“Most people do,” says Wolfgang tersely. “Otherwise why would she end up with me?”

“I didn’t mean anything,” says Kala, flushing. “I was just trying to be--”

“Sympathetic,” he interjects. “Right, thank you.”

Kala’s fingers track over her papers, buying time as she searches for a response. Wolfgang knows the appropriate thing to do is to apologize and suggest they continue their conversation, and he knows doing this would rescue his chances of having sex with her, but as usual his temper prevents him. Ella looks at him with a slight wrinkle on her brow, then leans forward and grips Kala’s desk with her fingers.

She clears her throat softly, then whispers, “He doesn’t like people.”

Kala freezes, eyes going wide as she looks at Wolfgang, whose expression remains fixed for a moment before he tips his head down and his shoulders shake with laughter.

“Ella,” he mumbles.

Ella grins, proud of herself for mediating the discussion, and Kala gives a soft, helpless laugh. Wolfgang starts to shake his head.

“Sorry, I’m an ass,” he tells Kala.

Ella nods hard in agreement and he looks at her with a frown.

“You don’t even know what that word means.”

“It means loser,” she says mercilessly.

He raises his eyebrows. “Wow.”

Kala covers her mouth to hide a laugh, eyes alive with amusement. Wolfgang watches her for a moment and a dangerous thought enters his mind -- _she has the most beautiful laugh I’ve ever heard._ His gaze lingers on her dark cheeks and her frizzing hair as she lifts her gaze and he smiles unintentionally.

“She’s very direct,” Kala says finally, glancing at Ella, voice still trembling slightly with laughter.

Wolfgang looks at Ella with a smile and pinches her nose. “Yeah. She is.” He glances at Kala and relaxes more completely. “Sorry, what were you saying before?”

“Oh, we were just making after-school arrangements,” says Kala, nodding and looking back at her papers.

She sips her orange juice and Wolfgang watches her lick a droplet of it off her big lips; he tells himself he’s a bad person if he thinks about oral sex in this context, but the primitive part of his brain scoffs and continues to visualize this in detail.

“Will it always be you who picks her up?” asks Kala, unaware what his expression conveys. “Otherwise I need you to sign some forms...”

Wolfgang shakes his head slightly to interrupt his train of thought, then lists Felix, Will, and Riley as alternatives to pick Ella up. After this, Kala takes out a large, colorful calendar and beams at Ella.

“Okay, last thing sweetie,” she says. “What’s your birthday?”

“Dethember 22,” she replies.

Kala grins. “Dethember...that tooth will come in soon, don’t worry.”

Ella shakes her head. “I don’t care. I can spit juice like this! Do you want to see?”

“She doesn’t,” says Wolfgang quickly and Ella scowls at him.

Kala smiles at this, then slides the calendar to Ella and flips it to December. “Write your name right there. And you’ll be turning six?”

Ella nods brightly as she writes her name with the pencil Kala hands her, and then Kala gives Wolfgang an information packet about the school, with start times and field trip dates. She reaches across the table just before he gets up and pens in her personal phone on the front of the packet.

“If you have any questions,” she says warmly.

He raises his eyebrows, trying to discern if she gives her number to all parents, or if this is an indication that she wants him to call her for reasons unrelated to Ella. He smirks slightly at her and she smiles back, but her gaze is friendly and nothing more. He breathes out, somewhat disappointed, but then he nods and thanks her.

“Anything else right now?” she asks. He shakes his head, so she beams at Ella and says, “Okay! I’ll see you on Monday!”

Ella nods eagerly and hops to her feet next to Wolfgang, who reaches for her hand, but she gasps and touches her fingers to the clips Kala put in her hair.

“Keep them,” says Kala. “I have plenty.”

Ella grins at her and Wolfgang nudges her to say thank you.

“Thank you!” she shouts.

Kala chuckles and smiles as she sits back. “Of course! It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wolfgang tells her before turning to approach the door.

He walks through it with Ella and she skips ahead of him, energized, her curls bouncing behind her with each step. He chuckles and hurries to keep up with her, pulling her back as they reach the door so she doesn’t run into traffic. He leans and picks her up, heading back to the car, and she snuggles comfortably against him.

“You like your teacher?” he asks.

She nods. “Yeah!” Then she glances up at him. “Why did you look at her like that?”

He breathes in, caught. “Uh. She’s very pretty.”

“Oh, so you _like_ her,” says Ella, as if commenting on a squished worm on the sidewalk.

He rolls his eyes. “No--”

“Papa, if you like her, why were you mean to her?” she queries.

He glances at her. “I wasn’t mean.”

She raises her eyebrows, looks away, and says pointedly, “Okay.”

He hums, slightly disconcerted, and sets her by the car to unlock it. He drives with her to the fire station and she throws her door open the second the car slows, rushing upstairs to greet Will and Felix. He follows after a moment, in need of coffee, and finds Ella in the kitchen with Will, drinking a mug of milk with both hands while Will leans on the counter, smiling as she recounts her time at the kindergarten.

“--got to put bunnies on it and there was a big box thing for me and I put my name there and I did a test and I showed Miss Kala my book and--” She gasps a breath and sips some milk before handing the mug to Will. “And Papa thinks she’s pretty.”

Wolfgang tips his head back in annoyance and Will looks at him with raised eyebrows, trying hard not to laugh. Wolfgang is about to defend himself, but Felix comes in, hauling a large case of water bottles on his shoulder. He heaves this onto the counter and then scoops up Ella, swinging her by her ankles so she screams with laughter.

“Hey Cinderella,” he says while she grins fiercely at Wolfgang through a curtain of her curly hair.

“Don’t drop her,” Wolfgang murmurs.

Felix pretends to do just that and Ella giggles madly.

“Yeah, I’ll kill you,” Wolfgang informs Felix.

“Calm down,” sighs Felix, righting Ella and setting her on her feet. “You’re boring.”

Ella wobbles, still laughing, and says, “Yeah Papa! You’re boring!”

She reaches her arms above her head so Felix picks her up. Wolfgang smiles slightly, turning to pour himself some coffee, and Will joins him by the coffee to refill his own mug.

“Pretty?” he asks, still barely containing a laugh.

“Fuck off,” replies Wolfgang, then glances out the window at the sound of an approaching car. He recognizes it as Riley’s Mini Cooper and he looks at Ella. “Hey Ella, go help your Aunt Riley, she’s downstairs.”

Ella nods and rushes from the room. Wolfgang cranes his neck to see that she’s gone, drinks his coffee, and then glances meaningfully at Will.

“Her teacher's ridiculously hot, I want to fu--” Ella returns and Wolfgang cuts himself off abruptly, eyes going wide. He transforms the word  _fuck_ into, “fully understand her teaching philosophy."

Felix and Will both bust up, coughing over their coffee.

“Papaaa!” yells Ella, grabbing her shoes from beside the door and holding them up.

“Why did you take them off?” he asks, going up to her and helping her tie them.

“Uncomfy,” she says simply.

He pats her side after tying them and sends her out of the station again, watching for a longer time to ensure she’s out of hearing distance. He turns back to Felix and Will, who are still in stitches.

“Nice fucking save,” snorts Felix.

“Smooth,” agrees Will, drinking his coffee with a grin.

Wolfgang laughs at himself and shakes his head. “Fuck. I told her she could bring her class here. And said I’d volunteer on a field trip.”

“You need to get laid,” observes Felix.

“Trying to,” says Wolfgang.

“Not with your daughter’s kindergarten teacher,” groans Will. “Wolfgang, c’mon man.”

Wolfgang gestures, unconcerned. “What? She’s hot. Great tits--”

“Incredible,” says Will dully.

“This shouldn’t surprise you,” Felix says to him.

“It doesn’t,” says Will after a moment of reflection, frowning.

“At least she’s not married,” says Wolfgang.

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” mumbles Felix, and Wolfgang throws a sugar packet at him from the coffee tray.

Will shakes his head and directs another, deeper frown at Wolfgang. “You’ve slept with married women?”

“No,” says Wolfgang at the same time Felix holds up four fingers to indicate how many times that has happened.

Will hangs his head and laughs in defeat, shaking his head more vigorously. “Don’t run to us when some pissed off husband threatens to kill you.”

“I still know my way around a 9 mil,” says Wolfgang.

Will nods. “Great. It’s reassuring that your first thought is to kill the guy before he gets you.”

“Who are you killing?” asks a musical voice from the door -- Riley, stepping inside with Ella and Luna, balancing a large casserole and a pie.

“No one,” says Will, leaning to kiss her hello before kneeling and hugging his daughter. “Hey, Loony Bean...”

“Sounds like someone likes her new school,” Riley says warmly to Wolfgang as she crosses the kitchen to the counter.

He smiles and nods while Ella grins, trotting after her. She sets down the food with a relieved sigh, then leans on the counter and perches her hands on her pregnant tummy. Ella looks up at her with big eyes.

“Still feel like shit?” asks Wolfgang.

Riley sighs softly and shakes her head, her long earrings tinkling from the motion. “No, I feel better this week, I finally got some sleep...”

Ella reaches her hands up and claps them onto Riley’s tummy, then giggles. Riley grins, leaning to touch her nose to Ella’s, and then she kisses her cheek with a loud “mwah!” Will and Wolfgang glance at each other with a quick smile and Riley picks up Ella with a groan. Luna, age 8 with long sable hair and a pert nose, swings open the fridge, takes out two juiceboxes, and gives one to Ella.

“I like those,” says Luna, pointing to the clips in Ella’s hair.

Ella grins and sucks noisily on her juicebox, nodding. “Miss Kala gave them to me.”

“So clearly this girl is too good for you,” says Will to Wolfgang.

“When _isn’t_ that true?” asks Felix.

“Fuck both of you,” says Wolfgang.

Riley frowns jokingly and puts her hands over her daughter’s ears. Wolfgang grins at her and she laughs and rolls her eyes, removing her hands and patting Luna’s shoulder.

“I know that’s a bad word,” says Luna soothingly. “I don’t say it.”

“What word?” asks Ella curiously.

“It’s a secret,” whispers Riley.

Clouds gather in Ella’s eyes. “I don’t like secrets.”

Riley bounces her and shrugs. “It’s not a very good secret anyway. I’ll tell you a better one.”

Ella brightens and Riley smirks, then leans to whisper something into Ella's ear. She giggles loudly and Wolfgang watches, growing suspicious when she looks directly at him.

“Papa you’re silly,” she says.

He frowns and raises his eyebrows at Riley. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing,” says Riley, squeezing Ella fondly. “Just that you were bald for a while when you were nineteen because you burned your hair off.”

Ella laughs delightedly at the repetition of the story. Wolfgang laughs too, drinking his coffee, and shakes his head.

“That did _not_ look good,” reminisces Felix.

“Yeah, girls didn’t think so either,” says Wolfgang, finishing his coffee.

He checks the clock above his shoulder and breathes out heavily, seeing that his shift is about to start. He puts his mug into the sink and takes Ella from Riley, about to carry her to his bunk and give her a book to read. She’s spent many hours here, waiting for his shifts to end, sleeping through late shifts, chatting at the other firefighters, and getting lost among the trucks. He’s sure her earliest memories will be of this station and of these people, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Oh,” interrupts Riley. “We were going to go to the park, I don’t mind taking her.”

Wolfgang pauses, then looks at Ella, who nods imploringly. He meets Riley’s eyes.

“You sure? You have enough to handle.”

Riley shrugs. “I really don’t mind, Ella’s an angel.”

Wolfgang looks at his daughter. “Right.” Ella smiles innocently at him and he nods softly, kissing her temple before setting her down. “Be good.”

“Okay!” she calls.

“I mean it, Ella--”

“I will,” she says, turning to roll her eyes at him.

Riley takes her and Luna’s hands, then waves, kisses Will goodbye, and heads down the stairs. The clock reads 14:00 and Wolfgang, Felix, and Will all exchange a look before leaving the kitchen to start their shifts.

***

Kala’s shoulders sag in relief as she sights Dani, Hernando, and his new boyfriend Lito at the cozy bar, gathered around a table close to a fireplace. She hurries towards them and hugs them all hello, lingering on Hernando, who squeezes her hard and laughs before pushing his glasses up his nose. He smiles at her and pushes a large mug of hot chocolate towards her.

“Your favorite, with amaretto,” he says cheerfully. “And whipped cream.”

She grins indulgently and takes a large sip, settling into her chair and groaning happily. Dani snickers at the whipped cream on her nose and Lito -- who she’s only met a few times -- chuckles and smiles at her.

“Okay,” Dani says excitedly as she drinks a margarita. “Best and worst parent meetings today. Kala, you first.”

Kala laughs and wipes the whipped cream off her nose. She drifts in the pleasant buzz of the bar, eyes adjusting to the warm, dim lights, and lets the chocolate almond flavor dance on her tongue. She stretches her toes in her shoes and revisits the day.

“Well,” she says playfully, drinking more of the strong hot chocolate, “Two of my students are twins...one is a very high energy little boy...I have one little girl who’s just adorable -- she’s the, ah, hot fireman’s daughter.”

“Ooh,” says Lito with a quick grin.

Hernando smiles and squeezes his bicep. “Our Kala doesn’t date. So maybe Dani has a chance.”

Dani stirs her margarita and moans, “ _Hell_ yes. I’ll start my classroom on fire if I have to.”

Everyone laughs and Kala shakes her head.

“You don’t date?” Lito asks interestedly after the laughter quiets.

Kala smiles and shakes her head. “No, I don’t experience attraction the way most people do. I didn’t know there was a word for that until I met Hernando.” She shrugs and directs a wider smile at Hernando, and he returns it, nodding. “I just thought something was wrong with me.”

“Oh no, of course not,” says Lito kindly as he sips his tequila.

Kala smiles at him too. After five years in Berlin, through time with Hernando and Dani, she’s grown quite comfortable with identifying this way and saying it aloud reassures and empowers her. It’s a relief to know that she fits into a definition, and she wishes she was equipped with this knowledge when she was married; she wishes she could have made an appeal to authority, even if Rajan never would have believed it.

“Does anyone want to split some of those crispy potatoes?” asks Dani. “I’m starving...”

Kala agrees and they order them, and then Dani shakes her.

“So, the little girl’s cute? He married? Give me the deets--”

“No, actually I -- I think I offended him,” admits Kala, fixing her gaze on the soft neon sign on the window of the bar. It begins to rain and she sighs, playing with her fingers, her mind settling on Wolfgang’s expression when she’s expressed pity. “He’s a single father and I assumed his wife had died, I’ve only ever met single fathers in that circumstance, but that wasn’t the case.”

“Deadbeat mom?” asks Dani in surprise, collecting some salt off the rim of her glass and sucking it off her finger.

“Seems that way,” replies Kala, worried. “I think he thought I was questioning if he...he was capable of taking care of her. He seems to work a lot, she’ll be in our after-school programs for almost three hours after the day is over...”

Hernando hums and folds his hands one over the other. “Do you think he wanted her mom to stay?”

Kala shakes her head and drinks her hot chocolate. “No, he...he said they’re better off without her. I didn’t want to be nosy, of course, so I didn’t ask...”

Dani sighs. “Ay, that’s always sad though, it’s not your fault if you felt bad.”

Hernando shrugs. “Men get very defensive about that, of course, the ability to provide.”

Kala nods. “I know, and his daughter -- Ella -- well, she’s lovely and she’s very smart, I was shocked, she has excellent reading comprehension and she has this sarcastic sense of humor.” She smiles to herself, visualizing the little girl, and then she laughs, “You’d get along with him, Hernando...he suggested this children’s book was about socialism--”

“Oh, _D_ _er Regenbogenfisch_?” says Hernando immediately.

“How?” cries Kala in disbelief.

Lito erupts in laughter. Kala sighs and shakes her head, drinking her hot chocolate, and then laughs to herself again. She leans her cheek on her hand and breathes in deeply, relaxing from the liquor, and stretches her hands out to touch fingertips with Hernando.

“This is why so many parents complain about your classes,” she tells him.

“And because you’re gay,” says Dani knowingly.

Hernando laughs at this and nods in agreement. The others chuckle too, and then Kala squeezes Dani's arm.

"Oh," she says through a taste of whipped cream, "the fireman's name is Wolfgang, by the way, and I could give you his number...”

Dani snorts and drinks her margarita. “No one is named Wolfgang.”

“It’s a very common German name,” says Lito, motioning at the waiter for a refill.

“For seventy-year-olds,” says Hernando. “Maybe he has a very traditional family.”

“Maybe,” sighs Kala. “He’s young. Ella must have been born when he was...goodness, about twenty.”

Dani raises her perfect brows, sips her drink, and says, “Sounds to me like he didn’t wrap up little Wolfgang...”

Kala laughs and shoves her gently. “Dani...”

Hernando and Lito laugh too and shake their heads, and then the waiter comes by to refresh Lito’s tequila and Hernando’s wine and drop off the potatoes. Dani groans thankfully and stuffs one into her mouth, then flaps her hand in front of it to cool the temperature. Kala rolls her eyes at this impulsive action and nibbles carefully on one of the edges, listening to the rain and the gentle pulse of music.

Lito and Dani begin a discussion on french fry recipes and whether truffle oil is worth buying, and Kala’s attention drifts, her gaze following passersby in the windy downpour outside. Her memory lingers on Ella Bogdanow, wavy blonde hair, inquisitive blue eyes, wearing yellow overalls and tugging on the straps of her even-brighter-yellow backpack. She feels instantly protective of the girl and she tells herself that’s only because she doesn’t have a mother -- but something pulls on her despite this. She likes Ella -- her curiosity, her boldness -- and she likes Wolfgang too, though she senses he’s withdrawn and impatient.

She breathes out and finishes the last foamy sip of her hot chocolate, and as she glances out the window one more time, she feels a strange desire to see the two of them walk by in the rainy night.

***

Wolfgang sets aside his book and beer when he hears a knock at the door -- likely Riley returning with Ella, who she took to dinner and a movie after the park to give him a night off. He unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door as far as the slidelock will allow it to go, peering through it; sure enough he sees mousy brown hair and a cheerful smile, and a few feet lower, Ella squeezing a large bag of leftover popcorn to her chest.

He lets them in and Ella yawns hugely before hugging his legs.

“Sorry it’s so late,” says Riley, yawning too. “I didn’t realize the movie was so long.”

He shakes his head to show it’s okay and bends down to pick up Ella. “Where’s Luna?”

“She went with her dad to track practice,” says Riley.

Wolfgang nods tiredly. “That’s right. Hey, mausi...”

Ella snuggles into him and he smiles, then glances at Riley. “Thank you.”

She smiles back and shakes her head. “We had a nice time.”

She kisses Ella’s cheek to say goodbye and Wolfgang sets her down, nudging her towards the bathroom to brush her teeth. Riley hugs him tightly -- she always does -- and holds his arms as she pulls away.

“Are you doing alright?” she asks quietly, meeting his eyes.

He nods, glancing away and breathing in hard; her hands are soothing and every time she touches him, he’s reminded that he’s never been in a relationship where affection or warmth exists, just sex. He’s reluctant to admit he wants something like that and he pulls away before he gives Riley a look he shouldn’t.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It’s different when they start school...”

“No, I’m relieved, at least it’s free,” he replies quietly.

Riley hesitates, glancing over his shoulder to check for Ella. “Still having a hard time?”

He breathes out and rubs the back of his head. “Rent keeps going up. But we’re okay.”

“Will said he could give you more hours--”

“There’s no way,” he says flatly. “Tell him thanks.”

Riley nods unsurely and sighs. “Okay. Come over for dinner tomorrow, okay?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He pulls his wallet off the table near the door. “How much was the movie?”

Riley wrinkles her nose. “Don’t worry about--”

He meets her eyes unwaveringly and she looks away, hugging herself. He knows it’s senseless to believe that he’s raising Ella alone -- the fire station has been her home as much as this apartment has, and Will, Felix, and Riley have all been like family to her -- but he’s never been able to accept money.

Riley shakes her head, disappointed. “Eight euros, and dinner was six.”

He nods and hands her the money. She nods too, lips pressed tightly together, and turns in the doorway with a hand on her tummy. She calls goodbye to Ella and tells Wolfgang to take care of himself, then shuts the door. Wolfgang locks it, rubs his face tiredly, and goes towards the bathroom in search of his daughter.

He finds her leaning on the doorframe, a bit of toothpaste on the side of her mouth. She looks up at him curiously, shifting back and forth on her feet.

“Papa, are you sad?”

  
He closes his eyes and looks down, then kneels by her. “No.” He thumbs the toothpaste off the corner of her lips. “Did you have a good time?”

She nods cautiously.

“Get enough to eat?” he asks.

She nods again.

“Okay,” he says, picking her up and carrying her to her room. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

He sets her by her dresser, opens it, and tosses her a pair of pajamas with polka dots on it, and she throws her shoes into her closet. Then she looks at him with a charming smile.

“Papa, can I have milk?”

He raises his eyebrows at her, considering if he should give her milk after she brushed her teeth, but he softens and asks, “With honey?”

She grins. “Yeah!”

He has to smile; he nods, leaving her room to go to the kitchen, and returns to find her standing on her bed, craning to look outside at the rain. She looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes thoughtful, but she doesn’t speak. She plops onto her bed and outstretches both hands for the warm milk he hands her, and he helps put the covers over her.

“Can I trust you to shut your light off and go to bed if I leave?” he asks her.

She nods and gives him what he’s sure she thinks is a reassuring grin. He watches her for a moment, but then he smiles and nods back. He kisses the side of her head.

“Night,” he mumbles as he leaves.

“Good night!” she yells.

“Ella, neighbors.”

She gasps and whispers, “Good night.”

He chuckles and shuts her door, then goes back to his room where he takes a drink of beer and picks his book back up. He breathes out and sets it aside, too tired to read, and takes his guitar from the side of his bed. He leans against his pillows, eyes finding the crack in his ceiling, fingers finding a D chord. He plays for a moment, slowly, improvising, and the lyrics to the song filter through his mind like a distant memory. _Who am I, darling, to you? Who am I?_  
 _Gonna tell you stories of mine...but who am I? Gonna be a burden in time._ He pats the body of the guitar, stopping, then shifts into a minor key and continues.

Then his door cracks open and Ella looks at him. He stops again, watching her, and she comes in, climbs on his bed, and moves the guitar off his lap so she can sit on him. She tucks her head under his chin and huffs.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks after she doesn’t speak for a moment.

She sighs in a weary way. He exhales and hugs her, reaching to shut his light off. She wiggles into a more comfortable position and he waits for her to talk to him. She smells like popcorn and vaguely of autumn smoke, which fills the outskirts of the city.

“Papa will the kids hate me?” she asks.

He frowns and lifts his head to be able to look at her. “No. What do you mean?”

“Because I don’t have a mama?” she goes on.

He holds still, considering; she’s touched on this subject a few times, but never so directly, and never with a hollow tone in her voice.

“Is this because of what your teacher said?” he murmurs.

“No,” she says. “You.”

He glances out the window as the rain falls in sheets, the lights across the street distorted. He thumbs over Ella’s shoulder.

“That we’re better off without her?” he guesses.

“What does that mean?” she asks.

He hums distantly and squeezes her, gaze still on the rain. “We were really young when you were born and...” He breathes out heavily. “Your mama was scared.”

“Why?” asks Ella.

“Because we didn’t...expect to have you,” he says slowly, unsure what she believes about how babies come into the world.

She’s quiet for a moment. “Like a surprise?”

He chuckles, relaxing slightly, and nods. “Yeah, mausi, like a surprise. And your mom was eighteen and I know that sounds really old to you, but it’s not, and she...she got scared, she ran away, and then it was just us.”

Ella coughs and he grabs a blanket from the foot of his bed to put over her. She inches down so her head is covered.

“Why was she scared?”

Wolfgang’s lips twitch in a small, sad smile and he shakes his head slowly. He knows Ella doesn’t understand that having a child should be a decision, that it’s a massive responsibility. He rubs her back and shrugs.

“Do you always know why you’re scared?” he replies.

“No,” she admits.

He nods. “She was scared and she didn’t know what to do.”

“You...you _weren’t_ scared?” asks Ella.

Wolfgang takes a deep breath, unsure whether he should tell the truth; he promised himself he always would, but if he admits he was scared too, he’s sure Ella will notice an inconsistency in his story. If her mother left because she was scared, but he didn’t leave though he was scared too, then something doesn’t add up; he’ll be left dancing around the real reason she doesn’t have a mother -- Anja was scared, he knows that, but it was more than that: she didn’t want to be a mother, she didn’t want Ella.

No matter how much he values honesty, he’s not sure that telling his five-year-old she wasn’t wanted by her mother is a good idea, and he doesn’t want to give her weak answer like “it’s complicated” even though that’s true as well.

“I was scared but people don’t always react the same way when they’re scared,” he tells her slowly, adding in a softer tone, “There was nothing wrong with you, Ella...it wasn’t your fault, okay?”

She nods dully and mumbles, “But what if kids at school think it is?”

“If they say that, tell them they’re wrong,” he replies.

“But...” She trails off, then huffs again. “But Papa they all have mamas.”

“I know,” he says. “You’re different but that doesn’t make you wrong, or bad. It just makes you different.” He breathes out and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Look, kids are going to say mean shit to you and try to make you feel bad, but they’ll only do that because they’re jealous of you.”

“Why?” she asks.

He considers this, smiling, and says quietly, “Because you’re smart, and powerful, and you’re gonna rule the world."

She laughs. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, chuckling. He kisses the top of her head and adds, “I know you don’t have a mom, and I wish you did, but I... love you, and...” He looks outside as the rain intensifies and hears a distant rumble of thunder. “That’s all I’ve got.”

He meant to say something more optimistic and encouraging than this, but couldn’t find the words. Ella doesn’t speak for a moment, and then she shrugs and cuddles against him.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, okay,” she repeats, adding, “can I stay here?”

He rolls his eyes affectionately and slides down on the pillows, pushing her to her own space on the bed next to him. He turns on his side to watch her and she grins, tugging the blanket off of him to wrap herself in. She kicks her feet playfully and yawns, then looks out the window as thunder sounds again, her eyes widening.

“It can’t hurt you, c’mere,” says Wolfgang, letting her hide her face against him while he covers her ear. “It’s just a sound.”

She nods and the rain thrashes against the window, lightning casting shadows into the room. Wolfgang thumbs over Ella’s hair and his eyes search the dark room. He tries to pull his mind away from the bills due at the end of the month, away from Ella’s worries, and he closes his eyes. He listens to Ella’s breathing, to the rain and the typical glug-glug of the leak in the kitchen ceiling, to a distant siren and the honk of a truck backing up outside.

He breathes out, unable to help his question, and murmurs, “Mausi, do you think about this a lot? Not having a mom?”

She shakes her head and says brightly, “No. I don’t care.”

He smiles slightly. “You’re just worried the other kids will care?”

“Yeah,” she admits, then gasps and presses closer as thunder sounds again.

He rubs her back to soothe her and says, “It doesn’t matter what other people think of you. Other people are dumb as shit.”

She hums. “They are?”

“Definitely,” he replies.

“Okay,” she says again, yawning and mumbling unintelligibly as her voice fades.

He thumbs over her hair again as she falls asleep, and his finger catches one of the clips in her curls; he wrinkles his brow and opens his eyes, watching the clip glint in the low light from the street outside. He sees now that it’s shaped like a K and studded with red gems, and he smiles, suspecting that Miss Dandekar doesn’t have plenty of them after all. He breathes out, almost a chuckle, and takes the clip from his daughter’s hair to set on his bedside table.

He looks at it there for a moment, and then Ella snores quietly, reaches her hand out in her sleep, and softly punches his chin. He holds still, shaking with silent laughter, and after a moment her arm drifts down so it’s resting on his shoulder. She snores again and he carefully shifts to sit up, then picks her up and carries her to her room.

He makes sure the blankets are tucked around her after he puts her in bed, and he pauses in the door as he leaves, watching the rain stream down her windowpane, looking at her shadow on the wall as it rises and falls with her breath.

He isn’t sure if it’s because she’s starting school next week, or because he finally talked to her about her mother, or because he still can’t remove his mind from a pair of dark eyes and pomegranate lips, but something shifts inside of him. When he returns to his room and his gaze locks on the tiny K clip on his bedside table, he glances down and grins gently, and for the first time in weeks, falls asleep without a storm in his mind.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Wolfgang glances up from a bubbling pot of pasta sauce at the sound of a chair scooting out. He looks behind him at Ella, who has emerged from the bathroom wearing a robe with wings for sleeves and a duck bill as the hood. She raises her brows at him, then yawns, stretches her hands out on the kitchen island, and slumps over it while she waits for dinner.

“Tired?” he asks.

She nods.

“Are you getting sick?” he goes on.

She shakes her head brightly. His gaze lingers on her to check for dishonesty, but then he turns, paying attention to the pasta again. She’ll eat a serving of that, some grapes, yogurt, and a gummy vitamin -- she gets the healthy food, while he subsists on sale items and the food all the firefighter’s partners bring in. He doesn’t mind, though it would be easier if she didn’t turn her nose up at the healthy things he pays more money for.

He slides her a dish of the pasta with a sprinkling of cheese that he’s sure she’ll complain about. As expected, she says “ _ papa _ ...” in the tone a world-weary chef might use to criticize a novice.

“Cheese is bad for you,” he says, kissing her head as he distributes a bit more cheese over the sauce.

“So,” she replies, moodily stabbing a bite of pasta with a plastic fork.

He’s too tired to investigate why she’s grumpy, so he simply sits with her to eat and looks outside at the breezy autumn night. Then his phone rings and he glances at the name on the screen --  _ Kala Dandekar  _ \-- and he hesitates, surprised. He checks the time, 19:03, and breathes in before answering.

Her lively accent makes him automatically smile.

“Yes, hello, sorry if I’m interrupting dinner but I’m calling to remind you that the field trip you volunteered for starts at eight tomorrow--”

He directs a disgruntled stare at Ella, whose eyes widen as her fork pauses in her dish of pasta.

“--we’ll be meeting at the front of the school. And -- um -- there is a permission slip required and I haven’t received one, but if you bring it tomorrow morning that’s alright. Ella must have--”

“Forgotten,” he fills in.

A pause, some papers shifting on the other line. “I get the sense you didn’t ask for the day off.”

“No,” he says. “I’ll call you back.”

She agrees and he hangs up the phone, then looks again at Ella, waiting. Her lips twitch as she considers how much trouble she’s in.

“What?” she asks.

“Remember when I told you that you have to show me everything your teacher gives you?”

She bites her bottom lip, searching the room as she thinks. “What...what if I  _ lose _ something?”

“Then you tell me you lost it,” he replies, adding quickly as she sniffles, “Are you sure you lost it, mausi?”

The term reassures her and she shrugs. He reaches to squeeze her arm and nods in the direction of her room.

“Let’s go look for it,” he says, deciding not to scold her since she’s already sensitive tonight.

She nods and hops off the bar stool. He follows her and she lugs her yellow backpack off her bed as he flips on the light. She turns it upside down and his suggestion  _ not _ to do that dies on his lips. The contents of it crash onto the floor and she plops down next to them, tucking her hair behind her ears, and he sits with her, surveying the avalanche of papers, crayons, apple cores, and a single, dead beetle.

“Great,” he says, picking up a paper that is drenched in what he guesses is orange juice.

She rocks on her hips, watching him. “Am I in trouble?”

He raises one eyebrow, staring her down, but he says, “No. You might be...growing mold, though, Ella, fuck, c’mon.” He grimaces and sets the paper down. “You have to keep your backpack cleaner than this…”

“Okay,” she says, chipper since he assured her she’s in no trouble. She picks up the dead beetle and presents it. “This is Samantha.”

His eyes widen. “The beetle?”

She nods and deposits it into his hand. “She’s pretty, her wings are  _ sparkly _ .”

He watches his daughter carefully. “Do you collect other dead things?”

“Only pretty ones,” she replies. “We play outside and there are bugs. The boys step on them but I just pick them up and they tickle.”

Wolfgang slowly nods, surprised that his daughter is interested in insects. He raises his eyebrows and tries out, “What’s your favorite kind?”

“Butterflies,” she says immediately. “But it’s too cold now. Now I just see spiders.”

Wolfgang makes a mental note to research if Germany has poisonous spiders. He gingerly sets the beetle on the dresser nearby. “Okay, Samantha has to stay there…”

“Why don’t you like bugs?” she asks him.

“I...don’t like or dislike bugs,” he replies.

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t like and  _ not _ like something at the same time.”

“Yes you can, it’s called apathy, I’m great at it,” he mumbles, working through some more soggy papers and examining each of them.

“What’s it called?” she asks.

He looks up. “Apathy. It means you feel don’t feel anything about something. So...the way you feel about...carrots. You don’t like them and you don’t hate them.”

She brightens. “Oh.”

He chuckles at her interest and looks at another paper. He finds that it’s a piece of homework, which Kala has put a bright blue star on and written  _ perfekt, gut gemacht! _ Her handwriting is slanted, smaller than most, and true to her warm, careful character. He hums and sets more papers aside, then directs a frown at Ella as he picks up a banana peel and drops it in the garbage nearby. He finds a candy stuck to her pencil case and she looks at him blankly when he shows her this.

“You,” he says, carefully peeling one paper away from another, “are a slob…” He reads the top paper and sees it’s the permission slip, so he turns it so she can see. It’s covered in orange juice and dog-eared. “Ella.”

“Papa,” she says in the identical tone.

“I could say you can’t go because you forgot about this,” he tells her.

“But  _ you _ have to go,” she says, unfazed. “You said you would. And you’re an adult.”

He squints. “Yeah…”

“And adults never lie,” explains Ella.

He nods. “Right.” He scans the form and sets it carefully aside from the rubbish pile. Then he looks at her intently. “Ella, hey, adults lie all the time.” He pauses. “What would you do if a stranger asked you to get in their car with them?”

She shrugs, now distracted with a few forgotten headbands that are in the mess from her backpack. “I don’t know.” She flicks some dirt off one of the bands and holds it up. “Papa can you wash this?”

He gently takes her wrist and removes the headband from her hand. “You don’t get in the car. Ever. If someone says they know me, or I said to pick you up, they’re lying. Don’t listen to anyone besides me, and the guys you know at the station, and Riley, and your teacher, okay?”

She nods, startled by his tone, and says quietly, “Okay.” Then she sniffs and her mouth twitches, unsatisfied. “Why not?”

He hesitates, tracking her expression, identical sea-green eyes locked. “Because sometimes people hurt other people.”

She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Why?”

He takes a long, slow breath. “We can talk about that when you’re older.” He thumbs over her temple. “You have to be careful, okay? Not every adult wants to help you.”

She nods unsurely and he exhales, chest tight, and instinctively draws her into a hug. He squeezes her and closes his eyes, then inhales deeply again and clenches his fingers.

“Papa?”

Her worried tone prompts him to loosen his grip. He pulls back to look at her and shakes his head slightly, then picks her up and gets to his feet. He forces himself to breathe, to put aside the images her trusting comment provoked in him, and then he pats her side and gives her another squeeze. “Okay, let’s finish dinner, we can clean this up later.”

“Okay,” she says.

He carries her back into the kitchen and sets her in front of her pasta again, then glances at her, smiles, and grabs the cheese from the counter. He sprinkles some more over the pasta and she grins at him and bounces her feet.

“Thank you.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately and sits with her after pouring the rest of the pasta into a bowl and getting a dish of grapes out of the fridge for her. He crosses his arms and watches her for a moment, struck by how small she is, and studies her expression as she investigates a grape she’s about to eat. He doesn’t know if she’s aware of more than she experiences moment to moment, if she’s merely curious about this particular grape or if she’s reflecting on something bigger.

Then she blurts out “This grape is BIG!” and giggles wildly while chewing it, some juice shooting from her mouth. He tips his head down and laughs, then rubs his hand over his face and lets his shoulders soften. She’s five. She can’t be expected to keep track of dates and field trips, or to understand why she can only trust certain people. He knows he grew up too quickly, lost his curiosity and innocence too quickly, and defaulted to mistrust and cynicism to keep himself safe. Ella is skeptical enough not to blindly accept or trust anything, which he loves about her, but he doesn’t want her to be closed-off like he was, especially since she doesn’t have a reason to be.

He glances at her again and nudges her arm. “Excited to go tomorrow?”

She nods. “I want to see the pigs.”

He bites his bottom lip. “ _ Where _ are we going?”

“Oh, a farm,” she replies, sucking some tomato sauce off her thumb. “This week we learned about food and now we get to see the food before it’s food.” She pauses. “How does an animal get from being an animal to being meat?”

“They...”  _ That’s potentially upsetting _ . “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Are grapes animals before this?” she asks.

“No, they’re plants.”

“But they’re alive,” she says.

He nods. “Yep.”

She gasps. “Are they  _ still _ alive? Can I eat alive things? Are they alive in my tummy?”

He raises his eyebrows, then turns his lips down, unsure when fruit can be considered dead. “I’m not sure.” He pauses, searching for an interesting fact to give her. “Yogurt’s alive in your tummy. It has bacteria.”

Her eyes widen. “What’s that?”

“It is…” He pulls the grocery list from across the kitchen island and grabs a pen, then draws a squiggle with a face. “A really tiny animal…” Animal? He searches his distant memory for an image of a phylogenetic tree, finding nothing. He spent biology ogling Cynthia Kruger, not listening to the lecture. “Not sure, but it’s alive, you can’t see it unless you have a microscope. There’s billions of them in you all the time.”

She gapes. “Why? How many is that?”

“Do you know what a million is?” he asks.

She nods hard.

“Okay, a billion is a thousand millions.”

She nods again. “But how can they be alive  _ and _ I’m alive? Are they  _ me _ ?”

“No, they’re not you, they just live in you,” he says.

“And yogurt,” she replies.

He smiles. “Yeah. That’s how they make yogurt. They add bacteria to milk.”

She looks at the sketch of the bacterium, unsatisfied, and touches her finger to the face he drew. “How do they have eyes if they’re so small we can’t even see them with  _ our _ eyes?”

He looks her over, crossing his arms again. “They don’t. I just can’t draw.”

“No, you can’t,” she agrees, nodding.

He snorts and shakes his head, then glances down. He wants to get her a computer so he can show her videos when she shows interest in something, but the monthly internet fee is too high to justify that when she has online access at school and at the fire station. He noticed her glance longingly at the tablet Luna has at home, and it’s disturbing to him that Ella could be learning even more than she already is if he had the money for something like this.

“Papa you need to call Miss Kala,” says Ella, interrupting his thoughts.

He inhales and reaches for his phone, selecting Will’s contact so he can ask for the day off. He murmurs as it’s dialing, “How come you can remember that and not a field trip?”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he grins.

Will picks up with a weary sigh and Wolfgang quickly explains the situation. Will pauses before responding and Wolfgang can picture his expression -- amused, disgruntled, unsurprised.

“Just to be clear,” says Will, “you’re asking for the day off because you’re a dedicated father who wants to share an experience with his daughter,  _ not _ because you’re trying to get laid, right?”

Wolfgang sees Kala in his mind and he hesitates. “Both.”

“I’ll fire you someday,” replies Will and Wolfgang has to laugh. “Okay, have a good time. And don’t…” Will sighs, trailing off. “Never mind.”

“Don’t what?” asks Wolfgang.

“Don’t give Ella’s teacher the impression you just want to sleep with her,” says Will measuredly. “Ask her out. For real. I think you actually like her, you talk about her a lot, so don’t be an ass.” Wolfgang doesn’t answer, so Will goes on. “Wolfgang?”

“Will,” he says obstinately.

“Goodbye,” snorts Will, but he’s unable to hang up without saying, “She’s your daughter’s teacher, okay? Don’t fuck her life up.”

“But I’m good at that,” murmurs Wolfgang.

“See you Wednesday,” says Will in defeat, adding, “you dumb fucker...”

Wolfgang smiles and hangs up, then sips his beer and searches his phone for Kala’s contact. He feels Ella’s eyes on him so he looks up.

“Why do  _ you _ have to ask?” she wonders.

“Will is my boss,” he says.

She breathes out, confused. “Like your dad?”

Wolfgang starts to laugh. “No, I listen to him because he pays me.”

She frowns. “You don’t pay  _ me _ .”

He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t do any work. And you’re five.”

She raises her eyebrows too, stirring her pasta. “I do my homework.”

“That’s not for me, that’s for your teacher,” he replies.

Her eyes flash back and forth and she leans forward. “Okay, so  _ she _ should pay me?”

Wolfgang keeps laughing. “No. She teaches you, you do homework, that’s all you owe each other.”

“So who’s going to pay me?” asks Ella in alarm.

“Ella, mausi, no one needs to pay you yet,” he tells her, trying to wipe the amusement off his face so she doesn’t think he’s being insensitive to her ridiculous - though genuine - anxiety. “You won’t need to get a job until you’re older.”

She looks at him for a long time, and then she eats a big bite of pasta, abruptly reassured, and loudly asks, “If you don’t pay me, why do I listen to you?”

He shakes his head slowly, impressed to his core, and then he leans back to sip his beer. “I will never doubt that you’re my child…”

She chews on her lip, trying to interpret this response, and then she shrugs and continues to eat. He chuckles to himself after a moment of reflection, and finally picks up his phone to call Kala.

***

The next morning, Wolfgang arrives with Ella in front of the school as promised, gripping a thermos of coffee, watching his daughter exuberantly kick pine cones while waiting with the others for the school bus. It’s a crisp fall day, the sidewalk lightly frosted, the leaves falling in droves from a light breeze. Kala, busy with other students, hasn’t gotten a chance to say hello to Wolfgang yet, but he’s spent the time watching her.

She’s wearing gloves and a warm jacket, but has shivered twice despite this; she also seems tired based on the way she’s glugging coffee and yawning. He considers the possibility that she’s tired because she was with someone last night, but he forces the thought from his mind at the first stitch of jealousy. He looks away from her, back to Ella, who is forming a ball with the gritty, oil-stained snow along the curb.

She stops, caught, and he raises his eyebrows at her. “I know you want to.”

She looks down at the snowball. “You’re looking so now it’s not fun.”

“Don’t you want to see the fear in my eyes?” he asks.

“No, I want to  _ sneak _ ,” she says with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

She tosses the snowball away, then walks up to him and reaches her hands up for her hot chocolate. He hands it to her and she leans on his leg, sipping it, and he tugs her hat down so it’s covering her ears more securely. He’s about to ask her if she’s excited for the day, but he looks up at Kala’s arrival, his breath caught in his throat at the intensity of her smile.

“Hello, oh I’m so glad you came, the other person who volunteered today cancelled, so I had to ask my friend to come help, and I expected more of the parents to come with but I think the cold scared them away…”

Wolfgang looks at her, then at the gathering of children and parents, who only number 3. “It’s...just us?”

“And my friend,” says Kala with a nod. “Though he’s late…”

Wolfgang notes the word  _ he _ and sets his jaw, annoyed. Kala glances over her shoulder to check on the children, and they both look over as the school bus approaches the curb.

“So, thank you,” continues Kala hastily, “I hope you didn’t get in any trouble at work.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Her smile falters slightly, apparently expecting more warmth from him, and she turns to Ella. She kneels and says hello cheerfully, compliments her hat, then hurries to direct the students onto the bus with the help of the driver. Wolfgang guides Ella closer to the bus, but stops at the arrival of an attractive, dark-haired man. Kala comes out of the bus, sees him, and immediately hugs him and kisses the side of his mouth.

Wolfgang feels the air leave his lungs and he steels himself for disappointment.

“You are  _ so _ late,” says Kala quietly as she pulls back, looking at him sternly.

“Ay, Kala, I know,” says the man, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, the traffic, and you know I hate to drive when it’s icy.”

She softens but rolls her eyes. “Yes, fine...”

The man squeezes her arms and smiles, then looks over at Wolfgang and Ella, the only others not on the bus. The man breathes in, raising his eyebrows, then looks back at Kala with a suggestive expression. Kala responds with a stammered mumble, something Wolfgang can’t quite make out, and then she takes the man’s arm and marches him closer.

“This is my friend, he isn’t a teacher but he’ll be helping today,” she says.

Lito looks Wolfgang over, pulls his hand over his mouth and squints as if analyzing art, then turns to Kala. “Dani wasn’t lying.” He looks at Wolfgang again, satisfied, and grins softly before thrusting his hand out. “I’m Lito. And you are the hot firefighter.”

Wolfgang starts to smirk and shakes his hand, glancing at Kala.

Kala blushes deeply and meets his gaze with stormy, apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry. Lito, who is  _ engaged _ by the way _ \-- _ ” She pauses to eye him. “--is very straightforward.”

Lito chuckles darkly. “Nothing about me is straight--”

Kala sighs deeply and tilts her head back.  Wolfgang’s smirk only grows.

“I’m Wolfgang,” he replies to Lito, adding with raised eyebrows,  “But I’ll accept hot firefighter.”

Lito laughs richly. “Oh, fuck yeah.” Then he gasps and looks at Ella. “I’m very sorry.”

Ella looks up, smiling. “Papa says that word lots.”

Wolfgang looks down at her with a frown. “Tattletale.”

“Pottymouth,” she replies without missing a beat, then strides up to the bus, says hello spiritedly to the driver, and gets in.

Wolfgang smiles faintly at this and so does Kala, and then she inhales.

“Oh! The permission slip, do you have it?” she asks.

Lito squeezes her arm and heads for the bus to give them a moment alone. Wolfgang nods, taking it out of his messenger bag, and presents it to her. She looks over the orange juice stain and the ripped edges.

“My daughter needs better organizational skills,” he tells her.

She nods. “Yes, I’ve noticed she tends to put things into her backpack with no forethought...we’re working on a song right now that helps with cleaning and organization. She seems very driven by what she finds interesting so making cleanliness interesting could help.” She smiles at him. “This looks fine. Students forget constantly but we need these for legal reasons so you can’t sue me if she aggravates a cow, for example, and gets kicked.” Then she frowns at herself. “I’m sure that won’t happen.”

“I’m not,” he replies. “That sounds like Ella.”

Kala laughs, her eyes brightening at the joke, and then she glances over her shoulder at the driver, who’s beckoning her. She looks back at Wolfgang, flushed, and then nods towards the bus. He breathes in, eyes softening at the sight of her, inexplicably moved by the light dancing on her hair and the way her lips resemble a heart when she purses them. He struggles against the fact that he’s intrigued by her, earnest and curious, consumed by the desire to hear her story.

He glances down to avoid showing any interest and follows her onto the bus, then frowns slightly at his own behavior --  _ the point is to show interest, you dumbass, don’t turn into a statue.  _ He looks down the aisle of the bus past Kala, who has stopped, searching for a seat. There are two left, in the very front, near the driver. The nerd seats. Ella is near the back, with a friend, and she gives Wolfgang a look to communicate her desire to be left alone like the independent five-year-old she is. Lito is also towards the back, sitting among the parents.

Wolfgang smiles to himself, then glances at Kala as she takes out a clipboard and begins to do a headcount. When she calls Ella’s name, Wolfgang nearly jumps at the way his daughter screeches, “HERE.” He looks over his shoulder at her, surprised by her enthusiasm, and sees she’s gone directly back to talking to her friend. He smiles again and drinks his coffee.

After a moment, Kala nods at the bus driver, and then she looks at the one remaining seat she'll have to share with Wolfgang, who realizes too late that sitting next to her, feeling her thigh against his, is cause for concern. She does not seem to share this worry, however, because she smiles invitingly and sits down. He puts his hands briefly on his hips, glancing around, then sits by her.

He’s certain the last time he sat next to a girl on a school bus, they were both cited for inappropriate behavior. In fact, he distinctly remembers shrugging and telling the principle “my hand was in her pants because I was cold, don’t be a pervert.” His hand was not in her pants because he was cold.

“Sorry about the tight fit,” she murmurs. “The ride isn’t  _ too _ long, only an hour.”

He didn’t expect a drive half this long and he hopes his expression doesn’t convey this. “Okay.”

She nods, taking a deep breath, and brings her coffee up to her lips, which he watches with a small smirk, taken by an idea. He knows he shouldn’t tease her with an hour of time to go, but he can’t help himself.

“Hot firefighter was the description you went with?”

Her faces flushes and her eyes grow wide. “ _ No.  _ That was not my description. It was my friend Dani’s…”

He grins and laughs, resting his head on the back of the seat, then squints at her, “Who?”

“She teaches in the classroom next to me,” explains Kala, adding with a warm smile, “I could get you her number.”

A blurry image of a brunette woman filters through his memories. He looks at Kala in surprise, confused and somewhat unsettled by this response, since it indicates she wouldn’t be jealous in this scenario. He wonders if she’s into women, then blocks that thought before it paints a visual in his mind that is not appropriate for a field trip.

“You could have given her mine,” he mentions.

“I considered that,” she says with a small smirk, “but it’s frowned upon to give parents’ personal numbers to friends.”

He nods, amused. She grins gently and shakes her head, then looks out the window as the city slips by in blurs of gray and black. She drinks her coffee and returns her gaze to him, and the image is a snapshot of another life, one where he is sitting next to her on a bus because she wants him too, because he is hers. His eyes linger on her and the ease of romanticizing this moment, of constructing a narrative that does not belong to him, hits him like a shot.

He takes a sip of coffee, unwilling to confront his urge to put his arm around her. He pushes the desire from his mind and searches for a topic -- another anomaly, the need to talk -- and looks out the window past her. He refuses to be the one to break the silence.

“Ella’s doing very well,” murmurs Kala after a moment. “She didn’t miss a single question on her latest math homework.”

He smiles and nods. “I saw that.”

Kala smiles too. “You should be proud.”

He shrugs. “You’re the one teaching her.”

Kala shakes her head. “Children won’t engage unless they feel supported at home.”

“That seems like the minimum,” he replies.

She breathes out and tucks her thick hair behind her ear. “You would be surprised.”

He hums humorlessly. “No. I wouldn’t.”

She meets his eyes, gauging this response, and says quietly, “Well, I was surprised. The first year I was a teacher I had so many parents who could barely manage a smile when they saw their children and I was...shocked, actually, I couldn’t understand why anyone would have children if they didn’t want them. Especially since doing so isn’t an obligation here.”

He notices a slight bitterness in her tone at these last words and he lingers on her expression for a moment before responding. “People don’t think about anything. They have kids because it’s what everyone does.” He pauses with a small smile. “Or they have them by accident.”

Kala smiles too, meeting his gaze, and then she glances down and tongues over her bottom lip. “I don’t mean to...talk about what I don’t understand...but in my experience fathers don’t tend to take responsibility, even when they have to…”

He knows she’s trying to compliment him, but he can’t accept praise for something he considers the bare minimum. He shakes his head slightly. “Men set the lowest fucking bar.”

She looks at him in surprise.

“People judge women on what they do,” he goes on. “There’s a long list of things women have to be, but men are considered good as long as they  _ don’t _ do a few things.” He shrugs. “You can be a shitty guy, but if you aren’t actually abusive or criminal, no one will call you out.”

She blinks and breathes in. “That’s true.”

“So, thank you, but the fact that my daughter does her homework because I listen to her and help her with it doesn’t make me father of the year,” he goes on in a clipped tone.

Kala studies him, transfixed, and he briefly glances away at the intensity of her gaze. He shrugs and takes off his hat, then runs his hand through his hair.

“Sorry, I’m…” He returns his gaze to her. “Bad at small talk.”

She tilts her head, eyes still bright with curiosity, and then she starts to slowly smile. It’s the first time he seen her expression this relaxed. “I don’t mind.” She crosses her legs and swirls her coffee in her thermos. “I don’t mean to seem so surprised, I just...I think about this a lot. The standards we hold men to.” She sips her coffee and settles more comfortably in her seat. “I left India for...a few reasons...but what you just said was the biggest one. The men who are considered good aren’t good.” She glances down. “And I know that’s true everywhere but...”

She trails off and he searches for a response to this, rubbing his thumb over his chilly knuckles, surprised by the intimacy of this topic. He studies her for a moment, considering the fact she isn’t married, and reflects on stories he’s heard about the violence in the cities there. He doubts she would bring up a painful topic to a relative stranger, but he’s not completely sure.

He shakes his head slightly. “It’s better here than most places.” He breathes out. “The men aren't better, but culturally there's accountability.”

Kala looks at him with the same expression of soft, sincere interest. He shrugs.

“I've thought a lot about this because of Ella,” he explains.  _ And my mother _ . “Should have thought about it before, I know, but it’s...it’s different since she was born. It’s real.”

Kala smiles warmly. “That’s natural, you want to protect her.” She hums in thought, smile growing. “My father is the kindest, gentlest man but when he told me he would kill anyone who hurt me, I believed him. That’s just how fathers are.”

“Some of them,” he says.

She frowns slightly but doesn’t pursue what these words imply. She drinks her coffee, then perceiving the wall he just put up with his tone, changes the subject.

“I’ve never actually been to a farm before, have you?” she asks.

He thinks, then says with a touch of surprise, “No.”

“Well, your daughter will like it, I’ve noticed she’s not afraid of dirt and bugs,” says Kala with a smile.

“No, she gave me a dead beetle last night,” agrees Wolfgang.

“Did she name it?” asks Kala knowingly.

He laughs at the fact this is enough of a hobby for Kala to notice too.“Yes.”

“She’s one of the most curious children I’ve ever met,” she murmurs.

He glances down. “I know she asks a lot of questions, she can be stubborn--”

“It’s wonderful,” Kala interrupts firmly.

He inhales, taken off guard by a wave of appreciation and warmth, and her expression draws an uncharacteristically genuine smile from him. He nods gently.

“Yeah, I think so too,” he replies, and then he says, “Hey, do they…” He pauses, considering the consequences of his question. “Do they teach you how to answer difficult questions?”

“That children ask?” she says, eyebrows perked in interest.

He nods.

She glances down, almost amused, and murmurs, “What did she ask?”

“Why she can’t trust all adults,” he replies.

Kala’s shoulders soften and she leans her head back, eyes closed, breathing out in a huff. She puts a hand on her heart. “Oh thank God, you don’t know how many times I’ve explained how to tell a child where babies are from.”

He stares at her, then leans his head back too and laughs. “Yeah, not looking forward to that one.”

She laughs with him and he notices her shift slightly closer. He glances at her, which is a mistake, because the action brings his face closer to hers and he notices for the first time the kaleidoscope of caramel crystals in her irises, the rosy tone on her cheeks, a small, faded scar just above her mouth. He meditates on her warmth, the fragrance off her hair, the drop of coffee still on the crease of her lips and his blood surges in his veins.

He wants to kiss her, an urge that doesn’t surprise him, but he also wants to hold her -- simply hold her, feel her close, give her comfort through touch and reassure her with a nudge of his nose against her cheek. This urge is new, and not being able to satisfy it is strangely painful.

“What was the context?” asks Kala.

Her tone tells him they’ve settled into the bus ride and into each other, that a new level of trust and comfort has been established. He breathes out, distracted by the glint of her lip gloss.

“She mentioned adults don’t lie, I told her they do,” he explains, adding after a drink of coffee, “she doesn’t give a shit about rules if she doesn’t understand the reason, so I can’t tell her not to trust adults she doesn’t know and expect her to listen without an explanation, but... “ He shrugs. “I don’t want to scare her, not more than she can handle.”

Kala slowly nods, gaze drifting out of the foggy window. “Tell her you always want to know where she is, and that you can’t know that if she goes with a stranger. I know she’s intelligent but telling her the truth...she won’t understand.” She looks at him. “It isn’t about what you’re afraid of, but about what helps her do the right thing if she’s alone or she gets lost. She’ll...she’ll know  _ why _ she has to be afraid soon enough.” She directs her gaze down before meeting his eyes again. “It helps to go over a plan with her, come up with steps for her for different situations.”

“Thank you,” he says instantly, jolted by the extent of this answer. She senses his surprise and smiles. He does too, then asks, “Do you have kids?”

An intake of breath, a rapid, nervous blink. She stiffens next to him and tries to keep smiling, but falters. “I  _ am _ a kindergarten teacher...we do learn this.”

Wolfgang reads the fear in her eyes as an indication to move away from this topic as quickly as possible, but it’s difficult not to pursue it; he didn’t expect a visceral reaction to such a simple question.

“I--”  _ I’m sorry? _ He hunts for the appropriate response and realizes this woman has made him more careful with his words than he has ever felt the need to be before. “Nothing felt natural to me, seems impossible that it does to some people.”

She looks away, closed-off. “Yes, working with children has always felt that way to me.”

He mulls over what experiences would have led to this response, none of them good; he studies the pain in her eyes as she gazes out the window and considers the possibility that she lost a child; his chest clenches slightly and he opens his mouth to comfort her, but finds himself again at a loss for words.

“Hey, I’m sorry, did I say something?” he murmurs.

She looks back at him with glossy eyes and shakes her head, hair tossing. “No, I --” She gathers herself and he’s shocked to see she’s on the verge of tears. She hastily drinks her coffee, breathes in deeply, and manages a small smile. “No, I didn’t get very much sleep last night, I’m sorry.”

He nods slowly, then gives a small shake of his head. “I didn’t know what the fuck to do with Ella at first.”

This makes her smiles with more sincerity. “I think you know now…” She meets his eyes. “She told me she was a surprise, so I imagine you didn’t have much warning before she was born to prepare.”

“A surprise,” he murmurs, laughing. “Accident is probably a better term. How did that come up?”

“We were drawing family trees,” says Kala, “and she…” She shakes her head again. “Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh but children are so blunt.”

He grins softly. “Do I want to know?”

Kala’s eyes sparkle and she lifts her finger to draw a replica in the air. “She wrote for her grandparents, the words  _ dead, dead,  _ then two question marks, then drew several stick figures with a circle around them and wrote  _ someone _ next to it for her mother, and then she drew you of course.”

He stares, captivated and on the verge of laughter. “Several...stick figures.”

“Yes, she wanted to give you options apparently, she said she was going to show you and ask which of the stick figures looked like her mother,” explains Kala.

“Must have gotten lost in her backpack,” he says, adding after briefly covering his face, “... _ dead, dead  _ makes me think I should have gone with something other than “they’re dead” when she asked last year.”

Kala nods. “She didn’t seem too distressed, don’t worry...and it didn’t get lost, it’s hanging on our art wall.” She smiles. “The sweet part was...she drew your fire station, too, and all the people you work with, and she knew all their names.”

He breathes in, moved, and doesn’t speak. He shakes his head slightly, searching Kala’s smile, which only widens when she sees the effect this had on him.

“They’re her family.” He smiles faintly. “Don’t know what I would have done without them.”

“That’s so admirable that they embraced you like that,” she replies, pulling her knees up to her chest and turning in her seat to rest her head on the back of it.

He nods. “I know. They didn’t have to.” Then he chuckles. “I think they expected me to fuck up like that.”

She laughs too. “Yes, they probably had a plan…”

He grins. “Yeah, a file called  _ what we do when Wolfgang knocks someone up… _ ”

Kala mumbles, “Oh my God!” through laughter.

He shakes his head and finishes his coffee, then stashes the thermos in his bag and smiles at Kala, whose cheeks are bright, eyes gleaming. She shakes her head too, then inhales and looks over his shoulder, abruptly attentive.

“Oh, Ella, you can’t walk around while the bus is moving--”

Wolfgang turns to see his daughter standing in the aisle, her hat off-kilter, her sippy cup of hot chocolate extended.

“Do you have more?” she asks him.

“Ella, go sit down--”

“I’m cold,” she informs him.

He breathes in to soothe his annoyance and reaches his hand out to steady her as the bus turns a corner.

“ _ And _ I can’t see out the windows,” she complains.

She reaches her hands towards him, asking to be picked up, and he glances at Kala for permission. She smiles and nods, so he lugs Ella up on his lap and she settles against him. He tugs her hat back into place and wraps his arms around her to warm her up.

“You get everything you want,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” she says, unconcerned by this.

“I don’t like it when I can’t see out the windows either,” says Kala sympathetically. “It makes my tummy feel bad.”

Ella nods. “Me too.”

She tucks her head against Wolfgang’s chest and sneezes -- a bad sign -- and he pats her back gently. Then she wipes her nose vigorously against him and he nods in a long-suffering way.

“Yep, thank you,” he tells her.

“You’re welcome,” she chirps, and Kala shamelessly laughs.

Wolfgang directs an offended glance at Kala, who smiles, unfazed. The landscape transforms to wheat fields, sporadic copses of fruit trees and pines, and the road grows narrow, punctuated here and there with bridges over small, sinuous rivers. Wolfgang notices Ella brighten at the new surroundings, her eyes darting back and forth as she looks out the window, and she tugs on his jacket.

“Papa, cows,” she says, nodding as a field of cows whips past the window.

“Cows,” he agrees.

“Wow,” she says breathlessly.

He laughs and presses a kiss to the side of her head. The bus slows after another moment and Kala looks up from the book she took from her bag to read after Ella’s arrival. The road shifts to gravel and the bus turns, approaching a large white barn, flanked on one side by an apple orchard.

Kala takes a deep breath, gathering her things, and Wolfgang does the same. Then he nudges Ella so she looks at him.

“You have to be careful around the animals, okay?” he says sternly.

She nods. “I will be.”

“You can’t run up to them without asking,” he goes on.

She nods again and he searches her expression for any duplicity; she meets him with a smile that suggests she has no intention of listening. He’s sure she can fool other people -- he always could as a child -- but he knows the light in her eyes too well to fall for her tricks.

“You’ll learn the hard way,” he murmurs.

She blinks at him, then clambers off his lap without a word to take the first space in line as the other children gather. The driver opens up the bus door, and Ella takes an eager step forward before Wolfgang yanks her back and gets to his feet. Kala slips past him to step to the front of the bus. Ella, tired of waiting, gives him a look of pure, warrior-like defiance, stomps her feet, and groans loudly.

“How much  _ longer _ ?”

“Longer than it would have been,” he says, pulling her back into her seat. “Because now you have to wait until all the other kids get off the bus.”

“Papaaa,” she whines.

He ignores her and looks at Kala, who clears her throat and holds up a long, fabric rope with loops. “Okay, all of you are going to hold onto your loop! There’s one for each of you. This way you won’t get lost, and we’ll all stay together.” She bundles it in her arms. “We’re going to get off the bus now, and then I’ll call your names, and you’ll hold onto your loop.”

She looks over her class, then steps out of the bus. Ella tries to break away from Wolfgang’s grip on her and he tugs her back again. She glares at him and then at the other children and parents as they file out of the bus.

“Not fair,” she says.

“It’s your own fault,” he replies.

The last child exits the bus, so he gently nudges Ella towards the door. She hurries out into the chilly sunshine and he follows her, watching Kala as she helps each child take hold of one of the loops on the long rope.

“It’s very important that you keep holding on,” she says to them.

Wolfgang knows Ella will release the loop and chase after the first sight that interests her and, as usual, he’ll spend the day bodily restraining her. For now, however, she grasps the loop and hoists her part of the rope high above her head to give the appearance of following directions.

After a moment, a stocky, ruddy-faced woman walks out of the barn nearby and greets Kala cheerfully, then gives a big wave at the children.

“Who’s ready to meet the animals?” she says loudly.

All the children chorus their enthusiasm back at her and Kala smiles widely. She zips her coat, then walks in the direction of the barn with the farmer.

Wolfgang, a few steps behind her, takes in the glint of sun on her curls, the way she excitedly converses with the farmer, her elegant stride. He moves his gaze along the curve of her waist and feels his pulse pick up at the way her tight corduroys hug her hips and ass. She appears in his mind, legs around his waist, hair cascading over one shoulder, her breasts in his face; he slides his hands up her body, down her back; she slips her hand under his boxers and breathes out on his lips as she strokes his _ \-- _

“ _ Papa _ !”

He jumps. Based on Ella’s tone, this is at least her third attempt to get his attention.

“What?” he asks, trying not to sound caught.

She rolls her eyes hugely. “Never mind.”

“No, what?” he asks. “I’m sorry, I’m paying attention now…”

She points out a dewy spider web in the crook of a tree branch and grins. He exhales, smiling, and reminds himself she’s never been in the country before. He should be paying attention to her, holding onto each image, caching them away so they don’t fade into incomplete memories. He forces his mind away from Kala.

“That’s cool,” he tells her.

“I know!” she agrees, then hums sadly. “Now he has to move though. The spider.”

“I think they make new ones every day,” he reassures her.

“That’s a lot of work,” she remarks, marching through some icy mud that the other kids skirted. “What if  _ we _ had to make a new house every day?”

He smiles again. “Yeah, I guess we’re lucky…”

“And  _ some _ people,” she says, directing a vicious stare at one of the boys in front of her, “just knock them down for fun!”

“That’s not very nice,” he agrees.

“No,” she says fiercely. “It’s  _ not _ .”

They reach the barn and the farmer swings open a huge sliding door; a musty, slightly sour smell reaches them and Ella wrinkles her nose.

“Now, we’ve got chickens, cows, pigs, lots of things,” says the farmer slowly to the children. “And we grow things too, but we’ll save that for later. First we’re going to look at the cows.”

The next half hour consists of a milking demonstration and an introduction to a few calves, who moo warily as the children line up to pat their heads. Some of the children shy away at the size of the brown-and-white splotched creatures, and some of them are too exuberant and cause the calves to balk, but Ella strides up to one of them with confidence and gently pats its neck. Wolfgang resists the instinct to pull her away and watches, tense until he feels a hand on his arm.

He turns to see Kala, who smiles, unaware that she just caused a hot tingle to race through his muscles.

“It’s okay, the farmer won’t let her get hurt,” she says reassuringly, removing her hand.

Wolfgang nods, struggling to turn his gaze back on Ella, who grins at him; this makes his expression soften instantly and he smiles back. She offers the calf in front of her a bundle of grass that the farmer gave to her, and then she steps forward to give the creature a clumsy hug and kiss.

Wolfgang lets out a quiet, charmed huff and looks at Kala, who’s beaming. She nudges him, and Ella darts up them, breathless.

“Papa did you see? Did you see? I hugged the cow, were you watching--”

“I was watching,” he assures her, kneeling down to be at her level. He pinches her chin gently. “That was very brave.”

She grins and nods, then looks brightly at Kala and says, “Have  _ you _ petted the cow?”

Kala shakes her head, so Ella grabs her hand and hauls her towards the calf. She laughs, tossing her head over her shoulder to wrinkle her nose in amusement at Wolfgang. He stands up and crosses his arms, overwhelmed. He looks at Ella’s tiny hand clamped around Kala’s and his heart clinches, hit by the fact that Ella’s never gotten this warmth and affection from a woman. He tells himself, like he always does, that she hasn’t been deprived of anything, that she knows she’s loved, but he can’t deny that she’s spent this month praising Kala enthusiastically, telling stories about her to him every night, using the little “K” hair clips as a show of appreciation and friendship. He’s never heard her talk about anyone so positively or with so much heart.

He breathes out, trying to smile encouragingly when Ella looks at him, and watches her give Kala a long series of cow-petting directions. He feels someone next to him and glances at Lito, who’s watching him with a knowing expression. He gives a quiet groan and tilts his head back before meeting Lito’s gaze.

“Does…” He hesitates, but he knows his expression was too obvious to shrug off, so he gives in. “Does she have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or…?”

Lito pats Wolfgang’s shoulder bracingly. “She does not...but she hasn’t dated anyone in five years. It isn’t her thing."

Wolfgang squints. “Five years?”

Lito shrugs, thoughtfully rubbing his stubble. “She says she’s not into anyone.” He glances at Wolfgang, and lowers his voice to add, “She went through a nasty divorce before she moved here.”

Suddenly the caution he senses in her, the ghost he sometimes sees in her expressions, makes sense. He turns closer to Lito, brow gathered together, and murmurs, “Shitty husband?”

Lito nods. “Total ass.” He puts his hand on his heart. “It’s not my place to give you details of course...but I can tell you…” He clicks his teeth and shakes his head. “Well, I can tell you my fiance and I nearly flew to Mumbai, Avengers-style, when she told us everything...”

Wolfgang turns to look at Kala again, who has taken a seat on a hay bale to listen to Ella’s continued monologue about cows. She’s nodding intently while wiping a smear of cow saliva off Ella’s jacket.

“Fuck,” says Wolfgang quietly.

Lito sighs. “I know. I’ve never met someone kinder than her.” He nods firmly. “She’s my family.”

Wolfgang nods. “I’m sorry.”

“She’s going to be okay,” says Lito. “She’s doing much better than she was a few years ago.” He smiles faintly and nods again. “I believe in her.”

Wolfgang breathes in, studying Kala as she chuckles at something his daughter just said, and feels a ripple of anger towards her ex-husband. He’s about to speak again, but Kala shuttles everyone towards the next stalls in the barn, and they spend the next hour engaging with chickens, chicks (Ella holds three at once and cries for a moment when she’s told she can’t keep them), and piglets, which crowd the children, snorting and squealing when offered some sub-par veggies the farmer brought out. Wolfgang had to pull Ella back from approaching an antagonistic goose, take her aside and scold her for throwing a potato at a fellow student, and explain why they can’t get a dog after a large shepard arrived, nosed her, and knocked her into a pile of horse dung. He covered his face briefly at this, but she didn’t seem to mind, and simply dusted the dung off and tussled with the huge dog.

They’re escorted outside after this, into a sunny patch of the orchard, where there is a table set up with a variety of foods the farm produces for the children to try. Ella, straying from the rope she’s supposed to hold onto, finds Wolfgang with the other parents and looks up at him, communicating silently she wants to be picked up. He lifts her and she yawns, then sneezes and coughs.

“I’m cold again,” she tells him.

“I knew you were getting sick,” he murmurs.

“No,” she insists.

“You are,” he says, giving her a squeeze and adding, “you can stay home tomorrow, okay? Stay in bed and eat soup and watch a movie…”

“No, I want to come back here,” she replies.

He pulls back to glance at her with a frown. “We’re not coming back here, this was just for today.” He softens. “You like it here?”

She nods hard and he smiles, and then she sneezes again. He sighs and sets her down, then takes off his scarf and wraps it several times around her neck so her head pops out of it, tiny. He chuckles.

“Okay, there you go,” he says, kneeling to zip her jacket back up and adjust her hat (again) over her frizzy hair. He nudges her towards the other children. “Go listen.”

“Okay,” she cheeps, trotting back to the gathering as the farmer gestures with a brick of cheese.

Wolfgang hangs back, dividing his attention between Ella as she listens to the discussion, and Kala, who is hugging herself and tipping her head back in the weak winter sunlight, smiling, blinking, her curls catching the rays and shining. He breathes in automatically to steady himself at the sight of her, images playing in his mind again: _ a strap slipping off her shoulder, a playful twitch of her fingers and a grin, asking him to come closer; his hands find her waist and he pushes her shirt up, then tugs it off _ . He takes his gaze off of her, but is drawn helplessly back only a moment later, and the image transforms:  _ a brush of her lips on the V of muscles under his abs, a flash of her dark eyes as she takes his cock into her mouth… _

He hurriedly fills his mind with an image that erases this one and clenches his teeth. She must have felt his eyes on her, because she turns to glance at him, and he looks away hastily. He refuses to contemplate the role his mind has cast her in -- his fantasies are always more generic than these, more focused on mechanical aspects of sex than on details like the curve of her lips, the slight crinkle of her eyes when she laughs, the delicate shell of her ear...

_ You’re fucked. _

He tries to ignore this voice in his mind and is thankful when the group of children disperses, all equipped with plates with different foods to taste. Kala unrolls a large picnic blanket, then glances around for assistance, and he immediately closes the distance to help.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

_ So fucked. _

He nods, then says, “Hm?”

She frowns. “I said thank you.”

“Oh,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re welcome.”

She nods in Ella’s direction as they spread the blanket out. “It’s good that you let her get dirty, that’s excellent for her brain, engaging in everything like that…”

He smiles. “Yeah, some horse shit won’t kill her.”

She laughs as they settle the blanket on the grass. “No, it won’t.”

Kala gathers the children around in a circle, except for the ones sitting with their parents, and the ones next to Lito, who is entertaining them by speaking in different accents. Ella sits next to Wolfgang and leans on him, tired, and Kala sits next to her. Wolfgang wonders for a moment if this is Kala’s indication she’s interested in him, but can’t pursue the thought, because Ella holds up a bite of sausage with a question in her eyes.

Wolfgang looks at her cautiously.

“This is a pig,” she says.

He glances at Kala, who seems as aware as he is of the next question.

“What do they  _ do _ to the pig?” she asks.

Wolfgang tongues over his bottom lip. “They have to kill the pig.”

Ella blinks, alarmed. Wolfgang hears Kala gently sigh next to him and doubts what he’s just said was the right approach.

“But...but…” She starts to cry, distraught and confused. “Is...did...I don’t want to eat  _ Wilbur! _ ”

“Who is Wilbur?” he murmurs.

“From Charlotte’s Web! Miss Kala is reading that to us!” She shakes her head rapidly and puts the piece of sausage back on her plate. “I don’t want to eat Wilbur!”

“It’s just a stupid pig,” says the boy next to her.

She whips her head towards him. “You’re a stupid pig!”

Wolfgang’s eyes widen slightly but he doesn’t correct her for saying this.

“Okay, hey, mausi,” he says kindly, wiping her tears off her cheek with his thumb.

She only cries harder, coughing, headed towards a tantrum. He carefully sets the plate and pulls her into his arms, then stands up and directs an apologetic glance at Kala. She smiles and shakes her head, and he steps away from the group and gives Ella a tight hug.

“Hey, it’s okay, you...you don’t have to eat Wilbur…”

She sobs into his shoulder and he walks farther into the orchard, rubbing her back. He knows this type of crying -- she has no intention of stopping soon, she’ll work herself up into a coughing fit, and will only be soothed if he plays her a song. He bounces her softly and kisses her head.

“Shh,” he says gently. “I don’t have my guitar here, okay? I can’t play you a song but I will when we get home.”

She shakes her head hard. “No.”

He breathes in, glancing around the orchard. “Okay, what song do you want?”

“I’m...I’m sorry Wilbur,” she weeps.

“You didn’t eat Wilbur,” he assures her, thumbing over her temple. “Wilbur is still alive…”

“I ate  _ other _ Wilburs,” she says.

Wolfgang knows his life would be easier if his daughter wasn’t so inquisitive, intelligent, and sensitive, but he can’t help but admire these qualities in her, and they reassure him that she has a good heart.

“Well, you didn’t know,” he says.

She hiccups, coughs, and sobs again.

“Ella, mausi, hey,” he coaxes, glancing over his shoulder to look at the group, now nearly out of sight beyond the branches of the orchard. He breathes out, resigning himself, and softly sings, “Guten morgen, guten morgen, guten morgen, sonnenschein…”

She sniffles, tears abating somewhat at the sound of this song, which he used to wake her up with.

“Diese nacht blieb dir verborgen, doch du darfst nicht traurig sein…”

She coughs again but stops crying and he hugs her closer, then strokes her head and turns, intending to walk back to the group. But he sees Kala only a few feet away.

“I - um -- I’m sorry, I thought I could help but obviously…” She breaks into a radiant smile, then looks down to hide it. “You have a nice voice.”

He stares. “Thank...you.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, holding herself stiffly. “Does she feel better?”

He nods, nudging Ella’s temple with his nose, stunned that Kala followed him and listened in on him without indicating her presence. He walks slowly up to her and she turns so they can continue together back to the group.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just...you handled that very well, I was...interested,” she admits.

They move through the trees together, the sunlight reaching them in patches; the breeze picks up and leaves drift down, littering the grass with dots of scarlet and coral. One catches in Kala’s hair, and Wolfgang gently removes it. Her eyes track over his expression and the corner of her mouth ticks up, intrigued.

“I don’t mind,” he says.

“Do you sing to her a lot?” wonders Kala.

He nods. “It was the only thing that could calm her down as a baby, that and guitar.”

“Oh, you play?” asks Kala.

He nods again, then glances at Ella and pats her back. “Okay now? Can we go back?”

“Yeah,” she says dully.

Kala smiles and says gently to Ella, “I don’t eat any meat. You won’t be alone if you don’t want to.”

Ella lifts her head. “You don’t?”

Kala shakes her head and smiles more widely. “No. A lot of people from my country are like that.”

Ella sniffles and gives a tiny smile, then goes back to snuggling against Wolfgang. They return to the group of children, being watched by Lito -- who has moved on from showing off his accents to showing off varied facial expressions -- and sit down again. Most of the children have finished eating and the mothers are cleaning up the plates. One next to Wolfgang clears her throat.

“You know, if you don’t make her eat what she doesn’t like, she’ll be very picky,” she says in a knowing tone.

“She may be picky but she won’t have a father who makes her do things she morally disagrees with,” he replies, annoyed.

The woman stares. “She’s a child. She doesn’t understand those things.”

He raises his eyebrows and glances at the boy next to her, noting he’s the same one who criticized Ella a few moments ago. “Maybe your kid doesn’t…”

“Okay!” interjects Kala as the woman’s face contorts. “We have one more activity! We are going to pick some of these apples, and you can take as many as you like home with you, because the farm has too many. Who’s ready?”

The kids agree, hopping to the feet and gathering around Kala, who guides them towards the trees. Ella, recovered fully now, cheerfully joins and the farmer steps in to distribute a few baskets. Kala and Lito fold up the picnic blanket, and the farmer hoists a small ladder over her shoulder and enters the orchard.

The sun shifts behind a cloud, signalling a change in the weather, and the wind grows yet stronger. Most of the children run through the orchard, beginning a game of tag and ignoring the apples, but Ella walks with her face tilted up, studying the fruit.

“Only the grown-ups can use the ladder!” calls Kala. “If you can’t reach an apple, you can ask one of us!”

The children, uninterested in apples, don’t reply. Wolfgang spots Ella under a tree, winding herself up to jump and grab an apple that is clearly far too high for her, despite others being much closer.

“Hey, dummy,” he says lovingly as he reaches her, kneeling behind her and pulling her into a soft hug. He points at the closer apples. “What about those?”

“I’m not a dummy, that’s the best apple!” she retorts, pointing at the one she was going for.

He chuckles and takes it from the tree. He buffs it on his shirt for a moment, then hands it to her.

“Eat that since you didn’t eat lunch,” he tells her.

She nods and takes a big bite, then wanders off, crouches down, and begins to examine a snail. He smiles gently and watches her, stuffing his hands into his pockets to ward off the cold. Ella tosses her apple aside -- he shakes his head, but smiles wider -- and picks up the snail, turning it over in her hands, holding it above her head to examine the bottom of it. Then she brings it close, sniffs it, and cautiously touches her tongue to the spiral shell. Wolfgang raises his eyebrows slightly, caught between a laugh and a grimace, unsure if he should intervene.

He steps out of the way as two boys speed by, throwing rotten apples at each other, and glances over his shoulder to look at the others -- Kala is on a ladder, stretching high into a tree to collect apples, and the mothers are chatting with Lito. He looks back to his daughter, who has moved on to examine a leaf, and after a moment he hears a thud, several gasps, and a soft cry of pain.

“Henry! This is why you don’t run!” yells one of the mothers.

Wolfgang turns to see the ladder overturned and Kala on the ground, surrounded by the others. He hurries over and sees she’s cradling her wrist with her opposing hand, head down, breathing hard. Lito hugs her from the side, alarmed.

“Oh God, oh God, did you break it? Let me see--”

“Henry say you’re sorry!”

“SORRY MISS KALA--”

“Are you ok--”

Kala slowly shakes her head while the chatter continues. Lito looks around at the mothers -- one is occupied lecturing the boy who knocked over the ladder -- and then at Wolfgang, who pushes past the others and kneels by Kala.

“Give her some space,” he says tersely to the others, adding quietly to Lito, “not you.”

Lito nods and Kala breathes in sharply, then looks up and extends her hand, which is bleeding heavily.

“I think I landed on something,” she says, voice tight from pain.

Wolfgang nods, then gingerly takes her hand in his and examines it. She winces and closes her eyes as he feels over the bones. “You didn’t break your wrist…”

“Thank God…” she whispers.

“I don’t know why you’re bleeding though…”

He squints, then inhales softly at the sight of a large splinter. Kala uncurls her fingers and stares at it.

“Ow,” she breathes. “Oh this really hurts…”

Wolfgang releases her hand and reaches for his bag at his side, taking out a first aid kit; Kala blinks at him in surprise and he smiles slightly, then removes some gauze and an antiseptic wipe. He pulls the splinter out of her palm and cleans the blood with the wipe, then quickly presses the gauze to the wound.

“Do they teach you this?” she murmurs.

He nods. “Yeah, of course…”

He wraps some medical tape around her hand to keep the gauze in place. She smiles weakly at him and his hand lingers around hers. They meet eyes and a tawny blush creeps up on her cheeks; her fingers slide away from his and he holds his breath, electrified.

“I -- thank you,” she whispers.

“You probably sprained your wrist,” he says, unable to find any other words.

“Yes, it feels that way,” she murmurs.

He gently takes her arm and helps her up. She dusts herself off with her good hand and tries to smile at the children and moms. The boy who knocked over the ladder, Henry, is crying vigorously so Kala smoothes his hair and squeezes his shoulder.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” she assures him.

Wolfgang realizes he hasn’t breathed or looked away from Kala since touching her. He draws a needy breath, then tries to look casual, and fails so badly he hears Lito snort near him. He looks around for Ella, who missed the commotion, and finds her peering curiously at Kala next to a nearby tree, apparently unsure how she can help. She steps between the parents and other children, biting her lip, looking from side to side, and then stares up at Kala, who stares back with a small, interested frown.

She leans down to be at Ella’s level, and Ella silently unwraps Wolfgang’s scarf from her own neck, then puts it around Kala’s. Wolfgang’s eyes widen and Kala looks at Ella, enchanted, and kneels down to squeeze her arm.

“Thank you sweetie,” she says quietly.

Ella grins and nods. “You’re welcome!”

Kala replies with a glowing smile and stands up, then looks at Wolfgang and puts a hand over her heart and mouths “Oh my God!” He chuckles and shakes his head, then looks down to hide a grin as her gaze lingers. Then the wind rushes through the apple trees and rain explodes from the sky, prompting all the children to shout and squeal and run towards the barn for cover.

The adults hurry too, and after a hasty thank you to the farmer, they guide the children through the rain to the bus.

Ella sleeps on the drive back to Berlin, huddled against Wolfgang. Kala, as before, sits next to them and occupies herself with a book. Wolfgang absentmindedly thumbs over Ella’s arm, mind playing images of Kala on repeat while he listens to the whisper of turning pages next to him. He wants to ask her out, but as the drive wears on, he comes to the disconcerting realization that he has very little practice with this -- a specific glance in a club, buying a drink, and the words “want to get out of here?” tend to be his strategy. He knows all he has to do is say “do you want to get dinner sometime?” but Kala is intimidatingly articulate, kind, beautiful, intelligent, gentle, funny, perfect in every aspect and potentially otherworldly.

He closes his eyes.  _ You aren’t into her. You want to fuck her. Don’t fuck that up by getting invested. If she gets to know you, you’ll never see her naked, because you’re you. You only think you like her because she’s good with Ella. Don’t be an idiot. _

He decides to spend the rest of the ride thinking about work and bills to distract himself, but after only a moment, Kala turns towards him and puts her book aside.

“I -- I want to apologize for how I reacted earlier, when you asked me about children…”

He nods cautiously. “It’s alright--”

She shakes her head to stop his speech. “No, it was an innocent question, it’s just that I...I can’t have children, and before I moved here, that made my life very difficult.”

Another detail falls into the fragmentary map of her life in his mind. This, combined with where she is from and Lito’s words, paints a new reality -- he realizes he needs to be gentle with her. 

“My...my ex-husband didn’t understand, and his family was even worse...I was constantly told no one could...love me or want me,” she adds very quietly.

He breathes in deeply, shaken by her frank delivery of a statement so personal.

“We tried to have a baby for two years,” she goes on. “But the truth was...I didn’t know if I wanted children, so I didn’t even know if I should have been disappointed, so I...I became a teacher to see if I like children.” She pauses, shrugs gently, and meets him with a bleak, bittersweet smile. “And I do, obviously, but...but I can’t change anything, so…”

She picks her book up again. He watches her, bewildered, and she opens to the page she last read. On instinct, he touches her hand so she looks up.

He meets her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She gives another, feeble smile and nods. “Thank you.”

“And that isn’t true,” he says, quiet but fierce.

“What?” she asks.

“What they told you,” he says.

She nods and doesn’t speak, but he can tell from her eyes that no one has told her this before, at least not with the vehemence he just did. She goes back to reading, him to thinking, but the energy between them has transformed. He feels closer to her than he ever has to someone he’s known for such a short time, and much more confident that she’ll agree to a date.

When the bus pulls up along the school, he gets up, careful not to wake Ella, and leaves with the others. Kala says goodbye to all the children and parents, but he hangs back, and she looks at him curiously when the others disperse.

He breathes in. “Do you want to get a drink sometime?”

She stares at him as if he spoke a different language. He wrinkles his brow, confused and alarmed at the idea that he could have misread things this badly.

“Oh Ganesha,” she murmurs to herself. “I -- you were flirting all day, weren’t you? Oh, I’m terrible at picking up on that, I…” She gathers herself and smiles apologetically. “I don’t date.”

He finds himself more confused than before. “Because….of what happened to you when you were married?”

“No, because I don’t find anyone attractive,” she admits.

He stares.

“Not...not that  _ you _ aren’t attractive!” she hastily adds. “You are, very, but I -- I just can’t feel those things -- I --” She sighs. “I wish this was easier to explain.” She puts a hand through her hair, agitated. “Actually, it  _ is _ simple, I just don’t tend to be believed so whenever I do explain I--”

“I believe you,” he says quietly, unsettled, unsure how to proceed.

She nods, breathing in hard. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I felt that way.”

“No, don’t be,” he replies.

They look at each other for a moment, both tense and embarrassed, and finally she pulls her bag higher on her shoulder and turns.

“I -- I should go catch up on some work,” she says breathily, and then she hurries away from him, towards the school.

He stares after her, crestfallen, and then turns towards the lot where he parked this morning, mind clouded with questions and doubts. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kala's class visits the fire station. Wolfgang talks to Riley, and Riley shares with Kala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's some smut with Wolfgang and, well, not Kala. It's necessary to the story. Sorry guys! He's a good dad but his romantic life is a hot mess and he's a bit of an asshole. *shrug emoji*

Leaves whip around Ella’s ankles -- bundled in double socks -- as she excitedly stamps in the open door and looks up at Wolfgang.

“Why do you want to go to the park now?” he murmurs at her as he searches for a hat in the entryway huntboard.

“Sunday,” she explains -- translation: this is the only chance we’ll get before you work again.

He nods, tired but uncomplaining, and pulls on a hat. Work is monotonous besides punctuations of pure adrenaline -- he’s had too much time to fixate on Kala Dandekar and her unprecedented refusal to get a drink with him. He knows Ella will take his mind off of this with her incessant questions and exuberance; and if not, he pledges he’ll pay attention to her anyway. He needs Kala to fade like all the other girls and the best chance of this is a constant reminder that the last thing he needs is a potentially messy relationship -- Ella comes first.

“Ready--?”

“YES,” interrupts Ella, adding, “Swings!”

“Okay, we’ll do swings,” he promises her.

He reaches to pull her hat over her bushy hair and she lifts her hands up.

“You have to walk, you’re five,” he informs her.

Her tawny cheeks puff indignantly and she stares at him before erupting, “Bike!”

“Ells, it’s icy--”

“Bike,” she repeats.

“We’ll drive,” he compromises quietly, turning her in the doorway and giving her a gentle shove in the direction of the car.

He rummages for his keys along the huntboard, then directs a soft glance after his daughter, who has paused along the sidewalk of the apartment complex to examine a leaf caught in an ice patch. She reaches a gloved hand out towards it, tugs it, and breaks a segment of it free from the ice, then tumbles onto her bum; undeterred, she holds the leaf up and studies, then to Wolfgang’s exasperation but not to his surprise, she stuffs the leaf into her mouth. Her eyes screw up instantly and she spits the particles out, then jumps up and begins to scrape her tongue rapidly with her glove.

Wolfgang shakes his head as he locks the door, then joins her on the sidewalk.

“Why did you do that?” he asks.

She shrugs bitterly, betrayed by the leaf.

“Don’t eat things like that,” he tells her, pulling her closer and patting her side.

“Like what?” she queries, turning her face up.

“Anything you find outside,” he settles on after a moment.

She blinks. “Anything?”

He looks away and murmurs, mostly to himself, “You must have a fucking good immune system…”

She nods, uncomprehending. “Yeah!” and promptly chirps, “Can Luna come?”

Wolfgang dials Riley as he and Ella approach his worn-out car. Riley expresses she’s tired of being in the house with an over-attentive Will and agrees to bring Luna to the park; they meet just under twenty minutes later, in a hilly park with a large playground, oaks with wind-beaten ochre leaves, and a frozen pond with fat geese. Riley waves tiredly from her car, sweeping her hair out of her eyes and hauling two small sleds out of the trunk, balancing them aside her tummy, which is even larger than the last time Wolfgang saw her.

She pulls a hat with a multicolored pom-pom over her mouse-brown hair and her nose wrinkles as she smiles, Luna trotting ahead of her to reach Ella, who scampers out of Wolfgang’s grip -- he was trying to fasten her coat-- and hugs her friend.

Riley rolls her eyes gently after kissing Wolfgang’s cheek in greeting. “It’s impossible to get out of the house now. Will’s running a hostage operation.”

“You’re eight months pregnant,” mentions Wolfgang.

“But I feel better than ever, God, you two should be collaborators! You know the last time I was out? Last Tuesday.”

Wolfgang starts to laugh, breath fogging as he lifts his thermos of coffee up to his mouth. “I’ll tell Will to fuck off.”

“He’s so sweet,” groans Riley. “He keeps making me food.”

Wolfgang nods and drinks his coffee. “You mean he keeps trying to make you food.”

Riley tips her head back, laughing. “Oh, Will...do you know how much I’ve had to secretly throw away? Our bins look like a food bank…” She looks at him. “Speaking of that, we’ll be having Thanksgiving next weekend and you’re coming--”

His disgruntled look interrupts her. She sighs.

“I know it’s an American holiday but it’s dinner and drinks and it will just be the guys from the station, and my dad, who’s flying in tomorrow so he doesn’t miss the delivery this time…” She pauses, shoulders softening slightly. “Okay, and his quartet, and a couple of his friends from Amsterdam.” She looks at Wolfgang as Ella and Luna dart past, headed to the playground; her cheeks are rosy from the cold and her eyes have a warm but sad plea in them. She tugs gently on his sleeve and tilts her head. “You could invite someone. It’ll be nice.”

He considers, searching her expression for pity, but finds simple concern -- and, more intriguing, curiosity. He raises a single, cold eyebrow. She sighs.

“Will mentioned that you--”

Wolfgang scoffs, torn between humor and annoyance, and shakes his head. “I can’t tell him anything.”

“You like her!” implores Riley. “Ask her out again! She might have just been shy…”

Wolfgang walks closer to the playground as his daughter disappears into it. Riley follows, slightly behind, and he feels her eyes on him. When he chances a look at her again, her smile is knowing and amused. She blinks at him and lifts her brows, waiting for a response.

“Will cleaned up what I said to him,” he tells her. “I didn’t say I like her.”

Riley nods, playing along. “Yes, it’s purely about sex, that’s why you moped like Eeyore all week…”

He wrinkles his nose indignantly. “I didn’t mope--”

Riley hangs her arms and head low, pouting, and shuffles around to imitate the moping that he insists didn’t occur.

He folds his arm in irritation. “I’m going to kill Will.” She keeps shuffling and he gives into laughter, shaking his head. He knows his voice is unconvincing when he says, “I don’t like her. And she’s Ella’s teacher. That’s the end of it.”

“Oh, she’s Ella’s teacher,” says Riley in her usual voice, straightening. “As if you care!”

“I don’t care that it’s…”

“Frowned upon?” suggests Riley. “Well, no, you’ve slept with married women, so _frowned upon_ doesn’t stop you.” She laughs and shakes her head. “You flirted with _me_ , Wolfgang!”

“That was before Will was my friend,” he says, but keeps his voice light, not a true defense.

“Right, just when he was your boss…” says Riley quietly.

Wolfgang exhales and nods. “I...should not have done that.”

Riley shakes her head gently, then laughs and elbows him. “Is it courage or stupidity that makes you do things like that?”

He laughs too, relaxing, and watches as Ella leaps up to grab the monkey bars; her hat falls off, typical, and she continues along the bars while Luna watches.

“Stupidity,” he replies, adding more seriously, “Kala’s her teacher, I don’t want to confuse her.” His gaze lingers on Ella for a moment, chest twinging. “I can’t let her think she’s...getting a mother, and then things fall apart.”

Riley nods solemnly and doesn’t reply at first, taking a moment to smooth her mittens over her belly, prismatic hazel eyes searching the cold hill in front of them. “I understand that...but I’ve never heard you talk about a woman like she could be Ella’s mom. You do like her, Wolfgang.”

Wolfgang knows, at least, that’s Kala’s an anomaly. She wears at him. She’s the light coming in through the curtains that he is too weary, or too unwilling, to dim. He tells himself he tried. He tells himself she’s the one to blame, creeping in against his wishes. She isn’t. He lets her through willingly, though he’s troubled by her.

He looks at Riley. He could explain he’s never been able to distinguish between true interest and a passing urge. He could express he’s afraid of Kala’s relentless presence in his thoughts. He could ask what he should do.

But he says, “No, I don’t like her.”

And they don’t talk about Kala again, though he wants to.

***

Kala scrubs her kitchen counter, hair in a tangled bun, face flushed from a morning of strenuous cleaning. Her apartment wasn’t particularly dirty, but when she made her bed after waking, the urge to clean came over her and she spent the better part of the morning cleaning with Q-tips, sweeping neglected corners, and adjusting lamps, coasters, and books repeatedly; she sniffled half the time and found herself wiping her eyes often, bewildered by her anxiety until she felt an intense spasm.

She leans her head back, groaning, and braces her hand on her hip for a moment before going in search of tampons and ibuprofen.

She returns to the kitchen, aggravated by the fact that she has to endure this monthly despite being unable to have a baby, and slams her teapot onto a burner. She rifles through a cabinet to find her raspberry leaf tea, playing over her words from last week.

She shakes her head as she rips open the foil around the teabag, sure she couldn’t have embarrassed herself any more than she did -- she feels she should have left her response at a simple “no thank you,” but she felt the need to explain herself, which she’s never attempted with a man. She isn’t sure if this is because she felt bad -- and she knows she shouldn’t -- or because he was the first man that indicated his ability to understand her.

She huffs and doubles over slightly at another cramp, breathing out a select string of Hindi swear words.

If she’s honest, she’s surprised he expressed interest in her. She may not feel the same urges most people do, but she isn’t blind to how attractive he is. She’s sure she intrigues him because she’s good with children, because he sees her as a potential mother, that his feelings don’t go beyond that.

She pours a glass of juice and shakes some ibuprofen into her palm; she takes it and leans on the counter, sliding her hands over her tummy and down her legs. She breathes in deeply and closes her eyes, trying to will herself out of the pain, and listens to the gentle patter of rain outside. Her mind returns to the school bus, to the inexplicable solace she felt, and then the kettle whistles and she makes herself a cup of tea.

She resumes her cleaning, though at a slower pace, wiping the counters while she sips tea; she turns to the fridge after a moment, taking out everything that’s getting old, and begins to combine and cook leftovers. She holds up a suspiciously soft orange, frowning, but before she can determine if it’s worth saving, her phone rings.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees it’s her sister. She crooks the phone against her shoulder.

“Hi, Daya…”

“You sound terrible,” says Daya.

“I have my period,” grumps Kala, tossing the orange into her compost bin and searching for some cream to add to the leftover tomatoes and zucchini she has on the stove. “How are you?”

Daya catches her up on life in Mumbai -- how her art degree is going, her latest dates with the boyfriend their parents don’t know about yet, the college gossip that Kala has memorized so she can keep up in conversations like this, the latest politics; she cooks and drinks tea while Daya gabs, the medicine slowly kicking in; she opens her cabinet to look for rice, but sees a box of brownie mix and grabs greedily at it. She grins lightly at herself after a pause and begins to mix these up as the conversation turns to their parents.

Daya’s tone shifts slightly as Kala asks about the restaurant.

“Well, Dad had to let one of his cooks go,” admits Daya. “It was just getting too expensive, the rent’s gone up.” She sighs. “Oh, you’re going to hate this…”

Kala stiffens, sucking some batter off her finger. “What?”

“Well, Rajan came by and offered to cover some of the costs,” explains Daya.

Kala closes her eyes, the joy she felt from spontaneously tasting the batter evaporating. “What? Why?”

“He says he feels responsible,” she replies.

“He’s not responsible!” cries Kala. “I send them a check every month!”

“He said he was concerned it wasn’t enough--”

“Idiot,” breathes Kala, tears sparking -- she knows she wouldn’t be so enraged, or so humiliated, if she didn’t have her period, but she can’t help giving into the feeling for a moment. “They didn’t take the money, did they?”

“No, they wanted to ask you,” says Daya quietly, adding, “they could use it though…”

Kala tsks, annoyed, and vigorously stirs the brownie batter. “I can send them more. I make enough to be comfortable.”

“Okay,” says Daya reluctantly. “But please don’t overextend yourself, you deserve to spoil yourself sometimes!”

Kala sniffles and smiles feebly. “No, it’s okay, I should be grateful. Some of my students can barely afford their supplies…” She thinks distantly of Ella, who explained a rip on her coat last week by cheerfully saying “Papa can’t sew!” and skipped away to play with the other children. She sets the phone aside to put it on speaker, scooping the batter into a buttered dish nearby. She exhales heavily, mind stuck once more on Wolfgang, and she murmurs, “Daya, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” says Daya but Kala can hear the frown in her voice.

She nibbles her bottom lip and sprinkles some chocolate chips on the batter. “Um...one of my student’s fathers...asked me out.” She notices a quick, offended intake of breath and hastily adds, “Oh, he’s -- he’s single, it’s not like that.” She tilts her head, putting the brownies in the oven. “So, of course I said no...but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. We had a wonderful conversation, and he’s such a good father, and he’s very smart and…” She sighs, putting a hand through her hair. “I...I want to spend more time with him and I’ve never...wanted that.” She shakes her head. “No, I’m being silly, I’m just emotional because--”

“It sounds like you want to be friends with him,” says Daya simply.

Kala stops. “I -- well, I do. But he doesn’t.”

“How do you know that?” asks Daya.

“He’s a man,” says Kala with a touch of humor.

“You’re friends with Hernando and Lito,” points out Daya.

“They don’t want to sleep with me,” replies Kala, laughing as she pours more tea.

Daya laughs too. “Well, no...but you can be friends with men who do, you just have to let their expectations fade, you know…”

Kala hums. “I don’t know.” She picks the phone back up and wanders to the living room, where she curls up on the couch under a blanket. She lights a candle and reaches for her basket of knitting under the side table, then thinks of Ella’s jacket. I could fix that. She clears the thought from her mind. “I told him I don’t date and he seemed...confused, but he didn’t tell me that I was wrong or silly.” She sighs softly. “I don’t know, Daya, maybe I just feel bad for his daughter, she doesn’t have a mother and…”

“Oh, did she die?” whispers Daya.

“No, they had her very young and I’m assuming her mother was scared and ran away,” laments Kala.

“God, I’m surprised they kept her,” replies Daya.

“I am too,” agrees Kala, frowning as she slips the needle through her knitting -- a soothing habit she picked up from Hernando. She pauses to sip her tea. “I...I feel bad, honestly, you know how terrible I am at recognizing when a man is flirting with me and...I must have given the impression I like him, and I do but…” She hesitates, gaze finding the steady drip off her gutter outside as her practiced hands quickly knit a row. “Daya, how do you tell the difference between wanting to be friends with someone and wanting....more?”

“I don’t know,” says Daya in surprise.

“No, I mean...you, specifically, can you describe it?” persuades Kala.

Daya clicks her tongue. “Ah...I’m not sure if there is a difference at first...unless all you want is to sleep with them, of course.”

“How did you feel about Manoj?” Kala asks.

“Well, I was attracted to him,” says Daya. “But we were friends for a long time first.”

Kala sighs, dissatisfied. “I never feel that. I -- I don’t know what that feels like. But…” She watches a bird land on her windowsill and shake the rain from its feathers. “This will probably sound strange, but I think...I think I could feel that, but it would take me a very long time.”

Daya doesn’t speak for a moment and Kala watches the bird huddle down. She smiles slightly.

“I’ll tell you this,” says Daya warmly, almost amused. “I’ve never heard you talk like this. So that means something.”

“What does it mean?” sighs Kala.

“I don’t know,” admits Daya. “Maybe you should see him again.”

Kala hums. “I have to on Monday, another field trip…”

***

Monday dawns warmer than the weekend, though rainy. Wolfgang awakes at six and spends fifteen intoxicating moments alone, drinking coffee and meandering the cold kitchen, before Ella’s feet hit the floor and she runs to greet him with the kind of enthusiasm that is inexcusable for this hour.

He blinks at her and she grins, then extends her hands for her daily serving of juice. He hands her his coffee before grabbing it back in realization; he approaches the fridge, forgets what he came here for, then shuts his eyes and shakes his head. Juice. He opens the fridge, searching for juice, and Ella’s voice reaches him like an echo.

He turns. “What?”

“Hi,” she says.

He snorts, lips twitching, a near-smile. “Hi. Apple--?” His voice dies when she hugs his right leg and yawns audibly. He glances down at her, then at the clock, frowning. “Why are you up?”

She shrugs and yawns again. He picks her up, balancing his coffee, and walks into the small den, where he sits with her on the couch. She falls asleep on his chest promptly, curled up, toes, knees, and head forming the points of a soft W; he watches the rain assault the last leaves on the trees that line the street while he thumbs her shoulder, focusing on her soft breath. He’s drawn into an instinctual smile, his lips curved as he finishes the coffee; he kisses her above her ear and sets the empty mug aside, then looks to his right at a creak in the floor. He knows it’s the old building, shifting, settling on the cracked concrete below, but in a flicker he imagines the sound is a woman getting up from bed to join them. He imagines Kala.

And he breathes out, like he always does.

He stays still as long as he can, letting Ella sleep, reminding himself that the day will come when she refuses this contact, when he’s embarrassing on principle, when she groans at his presence and rolls her eyes apologetically at her friends. He drifts briefly into thoughts of his own parents, speculation of who he would be if they had been closer, kinder, saner. This speculation quickly hits the scornful gatekeeper he constructed long ago. The Sphinx asks: why does that matter to you? and he never has an answer. He’s devoured like the other travelers.

He reaches for his mug before recalling it’s empty, then slides a rough index finger along the rim of it. He kisses Ella’s head again, this time in apology, and gets up. She grumbles at being disturbed but settles onto the soft leather couch, snorting sleepily after just a moment. He returns to the kitchen for more coffee and leans on the counter near the sink, his eyes seeking the grey street, buildings blending in the fog. He feels imaginary arms around his waist, a woman’s cheek on his back, a greeting, an invitation.

He tilts his head down and his molars connect in the back of his mouth, a sign of frustration and helpless annoyance. He tells himself that he needs a simple outlet, a night alone with a girl he’ll never see again, but that isn’t what he wants and he can’t convince himself otherwise. He’s best at lying to himself, but is nevertheless a bad liar.

He stands at the sink, drifting, until he hears a gentle “Papa?” and sees the time is seven. He swings Ella, now standing with wild hair along the kitchen island, into his arms and tosses her up. She screams in laughter and clings to him when she comes down, and he plops her on the counter before squeezing her waist to make her laugh again. He only wants one person to see him like this, walls down, but she isn’t here.

“So,” he says, almost dramatically. “Pancakes? Eggs?”

Ella grins and exposes tiny, bright teeth. “Pancakes.”

He huffs. “Really?”

She nods excitedly. He laughs and nods, then reaches in the cabinet behind him for flour. Twenty minutes later, Ella is describing how sharks keep regenerating teeth while she licks syrup of her winter-cracked lips (he’s given her chapstick for, a hopeless attempt, the tube lost in her backpack which he’s hesitated to venture into since finding a desiccated mushroom last week.) He frowns at her latest fact.

“Sharks don’t have bones?”

She shakes her head. “No.”guesses

“So…”

“They have…” She frowns. “Kah...kahno”

“Knorpel,” he says, the German word for cartilage.

She gasps, now unconcerned with the word. “And they can see really far! Wolves can too.” She pauses, fork twirling in a chubby hand, hair falling over her tide pool eyes. “You are...Wolfgang.” She says the word like it’s foreign. “Is it about wolves?”

He looks down to hide his laugh, careful not to embarrass her and shutter her curiosity. “No mausi.” Then he says, brow coming together, “Well, I don’t know.”

“Google,” she suggests and he breathes in, unsure if he should be concerned about this response.

“Okay, it means….” as he reads from his phone, “advancing wolf…” He snorts. “My fucking mother, okay, want to know what your name means?”

Ella nods eagerly. He smiles, almost tensing, as the results appear. “It’s German, it means…” He inhales. “All, everything.”

“Everything,” she repeats.

He lets out a soft breath through his nose, almost a laugh, “Yeah. You are everything.”

“Alles,” she goes on.

“Ella,” he says, matching her tone to show the similarity of the words.

Later, she’ll ask if he picked this name intentionally; later she’ll remember her father said she’s everything, and she’ll turn with her glass in her hand at Christmas; she’ll look at the gray-haired man who raised her as she begins her own family, and he will sip his trademark Becks with a cautious smile.

“Ella,” she repeats.

“Ella,” he says firmly, and she gets up as she finishes her last bite of pancakes, no attachment to this moment -- he wonders if that comes later, or if that’s his alone as a parent.

She struggles to pick socks this morning and he talks her into a pair with pink and orange stripes. He fastens her jacket at the door and notices her soften in contemplation, but she doesn’t speak -- it’s a common occurrence, Ella thinking, not offering. She’s his daughter.

“What’s up?” he murmurs as he kneels.

She shakes her head.

“You okay?” he checks.

She nods too hard. A bad liar with the need to conceal concern. His daughter.

“Okay,” he says. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Are you excited for today?”

“Papa,” she says, tone pedantic; but the lecture or admonishment she was about to give him fades and she simply nods.

He nods too, sure her next words were about Miss Kala. Last night, she noticed him lying on his back on his bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling. He was, in fact, thinking about Kala, but when she asked him why he wasn’t talking and why he said no to a movie, he said his stomach hurt. This lie led to Ella rummaging through the cabinets (leaving a trail of wreckage) to bring him plain crackers. Her anxious smile was worth the mess.

He guides her out of the door, her yellow backpack perched on small shoulders.

***

Kala stands, as she did last week, shivering under an ice-crusted pine tree, sipping chai. Most of her children have gathered, but Ella is absent. Wolfgang, more importantly, is absent. She scolds herself for this selfish prioritization but her shame is erased by excitement when she sees him appear out of a grey car a hundred yards away.

She doesn’t want what she’s told she should want or what she’s expected to want. No, she wants to quietly hug him, to speak with him until her voice dies, to understand him, and more, to be understood. She doesn’t know why she wants this, and she insists this is mere -- though atypical -- curiosity. He is unusually rough, yet soft; unusually honest, yet reserved. He is a contradiction, one she is sure the good side always rises in; a man torn by identities and urges but drawn ineluctably to kindness. She simply wants to know him better.

She knows that her thoughts are already far too deep and too nuanced to convincingly introduce him as a friend. Yet she knows that he is not even her friend. He is a stranger, and she is imagining a life for a version of herself that is more adapted to the accepted world -- a woman who can love, a woman who isn’t a strange machine.

She sinks back, reminding herself that he deserves more, before the opposing voice in her mind hisses at the assumption that he is the only one who matters. He approaches, he looks down, and Ella saves them from an awkward hello by shouting that Kala’s dress is pretty. Her soprano greeting transports them to last week, to the bus ride where they looked like a family.

“Thank you for this,” says Kala quietly.

He nods. “Sure.”

She nods too, perceiving his restraint. She looks at him with such open warmness that she unsettles him, and she softly swallows and puts on a mask of professionalism when she realizes this. She wants, wants, wants -- but what does she want? She forces herself, just for a moment, to look at him directly; and for this moment, his eyes are saltwater and she floats -- floats on her back, eyes on a pale blue sky; she floats too easily, and a small but potent piston in her heart slams into place.

She doesn’t know what to say, but her mouth moves. “The bus is here.” Her voice echoes like it isn’t her own. What did she say? He understands, whatever she said, and she is grateful for that.

He nudges Ella towards her and she frowns gently at him.

“I’m driving there in my car,” he explains. “So I can drive home from work.”

He sounds almost cold, almost dismissive. She forces herself to inhale and nods, trying to smile. She puts a hand on Ella’s shoulder as the little girl brightly waves goodbye and walks with the rest of her class and the parent volunteers to the bus. Her mind is quickly occupied by questions and observations by the sea of children around her; she’s too busy to crave what she woke up craving -- a chance on the bus to brush arms with Wolfgang, a conversation.

She looks at Ella as the bus pulls along the fire station and sees that she’s already pointing out the trucks, explaining details to friends. She looks away to hide an amused smile -- she wonders distantly how Wolfgang keeps up with the relentless questions and explorations, then feels her heart surge painfully because she knows he does keep up; despite very little time and, she suspects, not much money, he listens to his daughter.

She forces her mind to her job again. She helps the children empty out of the bus into the blustery mist; she looks up at the simple brick station where she knows Wolfgang spends so much of his time and holds her breath. Ella darts familiarly up to the door before the other children and looks over her shoulder at Kala, grinning. Kala grins back and guides the other children to the door, keeping them from the street and passersby.

“Do you see the fire station?” she asks them.

“Twucks!” shouts one boy, gesturing at the line of fire trucks along the drive.

Kala beams. “That’s right!”

The station door opens to reveal a man, about thirty, with features that remind Kala of a mid-century TV hero; he’s dressed simply in a grey t-shirt with the station logo.

He smiles easily and shakes her hand, introducing himself in perfect German but with an American accent. Kala smiles back and the man -- Will, station chief-- waves at her class and chuckles.

Ella looks up at him in interest. “Is Luna here?”

“She’s at school,” says Will.

Ella blinks, doesn’t respond, and sneaks past him into the station. One of the volunteering mothers looks at Kala in confusion, but before Kala can explain that Ella is one of the firefighter’s daughter, Will bids them all inside.

Kala spent this week talking with her class about firefighter vocabulary, did a few fire drills, and even found coloring sheets with fire engines on them. She wanted her class to come off as knowledgeable, despite being five years old, which she reflects on now as a somewhat irrational attempt. She glances at a boy -- Gavin -- who is happily picking his nose and wonders if any of her students will remember the basics of fire safety that she taught them.

“Thank you for doing a tour,” Kala says to Will with a smile as she steps up the first stairs with him.

“Oh, we love doing this,” he replies readily. “We can do whatever you want, start in the quarters upstairs, look around the garage…”

“However you normally do it,” says Kala politely, smiling.

“These stairs are long,” complains one of the boys.

“Is there a pole?” asks a girl.

Will laughs. “No, we don’t use those anymore, just the stairs…”

Kala, Will, and the children reach the top of the stairs, which open into a clean, sparse kitchen, where there are five firefighters, including Wolfgang, who is sipping coffee and scanning Kala’s class intently. Ella is at his side, bursting, impatient to begin explaining how much she knows about today’s field trip. He briefly meets Kala’s eyes and she withdraws at the inexplicable wall he has put up. She forces her eyes elsewhere, hurt, and then tilts her head at a sign near the entrance to the bunks; it has been covered with a paper bag.

“Um,” she whispers, gesturing to Will.

He chuckles. “Oh...that’s our list of station rules. It has some profanity on it, so we covered it.”

“Oh, well, good,” she says, frowning but tempted to sneak a glance. “Why does it have profanity?”

Will looks silently at Wolfgang, who smirks. Kala finds his smirk handsome and curses him in her mind. She shakes her head to clear it and addresses the children.

“Okay,” she says with a big smile. “We’re going to listen to Mr. Gorski now. Remember, when someone is talking, we listen first and then we can ask our questions.”

She glances at Ella, who is still near Wolfgang, and beckons her to join the rest of the class. Ella springs over and looks up eagerly, mouth open with a question. But she swallows it and nods.

“Listen first,” she repeats, nodding.

Kala smiles and nods too. Will begins an animated explanation of the kitchen and dorm space, explaining the station can be a second home when it needs to be. Kala listens attentively, nudging her children to be quiet, and follows Will throughout the top floor of the station. She expected Wolfgang to follow along with the tour, considering his daughter is part of it, but he remains in the kitchen with another firefighter, a skinny man with lanky brown hair, who stares at Kala for a moment before looking back to Wolfgang in appreciation. Wolfgang shrugs and shakes his head, and Kala is sure this refers to her refusal to go on a date with him.

She inhales, urging herself to ignore this exchange. They walk through the bunkroom -- Kala wonders which bed is Wolfgang’s -- and through a gym, which Will explains they use every day to stay strong since their job is dangerous. Kala looks at Wolfgang for a moment, eyes lingering on his biceps under his tight gray sweater, and tilts her head. Before she can determine if she feels anything, however, Will starts to speak.

“Who’s ready to see the trucks?” he asks.

The children clamor. Kala grins, distracted now by their excitement, and Will waves Wolfgang and the other man over.

“Bogdanow, Berner, stop talking about girls, let’s go,” he says.

Kala looks up at Wolfgang, who lowers his coffee from his mouth with a look of defiance. Kala is certain a hierarchy exists in this fire station, and that Will has the makings to be an effective boss, but she suspects Wolfgang is difficult to manage. He sips his coffee, in no hurry, and the man Will referred to as Berner slugs him in the arm to rush him.

“Papa!” Ella encourages him impatiently.

The same mother who squinted at Kala when Ella ran prematurely into the station frowns.

“His daughter is one of my students,” explains Kala quietly. “He was nice enough to offer us this tour…”

The woman sniffs. “Well, what did you offer him?”

Kala turns. “What?”

“I would hate to learn any favoritism is going on in my son’s classroom,” says the woman, protectively taking her son closer.

Kala’s skin prickles in annoyance but she says sweetly, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

The woman smiles coldly and walks away with her son to be at the head of the group. Kala folds her arms, exhaling hard, and is startled when she feels someone beside her. She looks up at Wolfgang.

“That was rude,” he murmurs.

She folds her arms more tightly and gives a small, short nod. “Yes, I agree.”

He meets her eyes with a slight smile, almost contrite -- she studies him carefully, unwilling to talk to him like they did last week until he convinces her that he deserves it. He has to accept that she doesn’t know if she wants him the way he wants her, and treat her like she isn’t an inconvenience or a disappointment; she’s spent too much of her life feeling like both of these.

He sets his coffee aside, then glances down. “Sorry about earlier.”

Her chest unclenches and she nods softly. Will calls them to join him on the stairs before Kala can speak, but she notices Wolfgang slow his gait to create separation between them and the group. Kala eyes him from the side, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You can’t distract me like you did last week,” she tells him.

He raises his eyebrows slightly. “I didn’t distract you. Is your hand better?”

She sticks her hand out to show a neat band-aid. “Yes, much…” She smiles and her shoulders soften in relief at another opportunity to talk to him. “Is Ella feeling better?”

His eyes flash in annoyance but his expression remains otherwise affectionate. “She wasn’t that sick. She just likes sleeping on the couch all day and asking for things.”

Kala grins. “Who doesn’t like that?”

He chuckles and shakes his head and they meet eyes quickly. Then Kala looks ahead as a familiar voice -- Ella’s -- rings out in the echo-prone staircase. “This is the garage!”

“She admires you so much,” says Kala. “Do you think she wants to be a firefighter?”

“I hope not,” he replies, then adds, “no, she’ll be...Ellie Sattler.”

Kala grins. “Oh, no...oh my goodness, has she gone through a dinosaur phase? I feel like she will. Oh!” she adds brightly. “That reminds me, I have a book for her--”

“Sure about the favoritism?” he murmurs with a smirk.

Kala quietly scoffs. “Yes. She just...happens to remind me...of me. We have similar interests.”

He nods. “So when was your dinosaur phase?”

She watches him for a moment, tonguing over her bottom lip, more energized than she feels with anyone else. “When I was eight...my family went to a museum. And my sister thought the dinosaurs were terrifying so of course I had to pretend I didn’t, to be better than her...but I oversold it, and convinced my parents I loved dinosaurs...so they bought me a book about them.”

“Which you had to read,” he guesses.

“Yes, so I didn’t hurt their feelings,” she agrees. “But I fell in love after that. I thought dinosaurs were cute, to be honest. Except the ones that can swim.”

He shakes his head. “Felix--” he gestures to the man ahead of them, “--took Ella to a movie about those and she wouldn’t sleep in her own bed for a week.”

Kala softly _ahhs_ at this. “Oh no...so she doesn’t like dinosaurs…”

“Not those at least,” he replies. He smiles. “She likes things she can collect.”

“Mm, dinosaurs are a bit big then,” says Kala, laughing.

They reach the bottom of the stairs, the garage with three large fire trucks and a series of lockers with the protective gear. Kala notices both Will and Felix looking at her -- surprised, hopeful, with just a touch of the annoying “get some” smirk that men seem unable to contain when around their friends. She flushes, stepping away from Wolfgang. She clears her throat quietly and stands near Will, then addresses her class and beams.

“Okay, what can you tell me about this fire truck?” she asks them.

“Red!” offers a few of the children.

Some others chorus “big!”

“Very good!” says Kala. “Now, why do you think it’s red? This time raise your hands…”

Will adds information as the children respond, and after a few moments, opens up the side of the truck to reveal hoses and other emergency gear. The children press closer, all transfixed and breathless with questions, which Will answers perfectly for their level of comprehension; Kala shoots him a pleased smile and he nods in response.

They move onto the lockers and Will makes Felix do a brief demonstration of getting into the gear.

“We put it all on as fast as possible,” he tells the kids, adding to the parents, “you know, the way you get dressed before sneaking out of a hookup’s house in the morning--’

“Felix Berner, ladies and gentlemen,” mumbles Will. “I am so sorry.”

“What?” yelps Felix as Will shoves him to the side, resuming his place by the lockers.

Kala catches Wolfgang shaking his head in brotherly exasperation, almost laughing. She smiles at this, though she scowls at Felix, who raises his hands in apology. Will takes a stack of plastic fire helmets out of one of the lockers and gives them to Wolfgang and Kala to distribute to the children. Ella pushes her way to the front and Wolfgang gives her a look, but he kneels down to put the hat on her head.

She grins and adjusts it over her hair. Kala looks at her class, all wearing the bright red hats now, and beams, nose wrinkling.

“Could we take a picture?” she asks Will.

He nods and she hands her phone to him. She gathers the children near the fire truck and then looks up at Wolfgang, who is holding his own fire helmet. Kala stops breathing and he searches her eyes, unsmiling and intense.

“The teacher should have one too,” he explains, the smallest smirk now on his lips.

She nods, unable to think of a coherent response, and he lifts the helmet onto her head; it would be far too big if her hair wasn’t such a messy halo around her head. She notices how nice he smells as he brings his arms back to his sides, and she looks into his eyes and smiles in thanks, then steps closer to her students.

Will aims the phone and Felix encourages the kids to smile by making a face. Kala makes the mistake of looking at Wolfgang just as the picture is taken, and his sudden grin makes her grin too. The phone flashes and Will returns it to Kala. She looks fleetingly at the picture, but her students pull her attention away.

It’s only later, after she’s put her students on the bus that will take them home, that she studies the photo. Her fingers grow tight on her phone and she inhales in alarm. _Have I ever smiled like that?_ The wind nips at her as she stares -- her eyes are smoky diamonds, shimmering, and her smile is pure, free from the worries that normally dull it. She stands on the curb, shivering. Will, Wolfgang, Ella, and Felix are nearby, waiting to be said goodbye to. She planned on attending a small party at Dani’s house directly after this, which is why she didn’t get on the bus with the children, but now she’s unsure; she wants to be alone, and if not alone, only with Wolfgang. _No_ , her mind says softly, _you haven’t smiled like that._

She wishes her predominant emotions weren’t confusion and panic. She wishes she could walk up to him and say she reconsidered getting dinner.

Instead, she pockets her phone, banishes the alarming thought of asking Wolfgang out from her mind, and steels herself. She smiles professionally, walks up to Will, and shakes his hand.

“Thank you so much for this,” she says gently.

Will shakes his head to show it was nothing. “Anytime.”

She hesitates, but then emphasizes, “Really, thank you.” An idea strikes her, an opportunity to get dinner with Wolfgang without calling it a date. She barrels on before her mind can remind her of pitfalls. “Ah, my friends are having a party right now if...if you and your men wanted to come, that would be fine--”

“Oh, that’s not necessary--”

“I’ll go,” interrupts Felix with a shrug, adding to Wolfgang, “Wolfie?”

Wolfgang meets Kala’s eyes, considering; she breathes in, uneasy under his keen gaze. He can’t speak before Ella bursts out “I want to go!”

Kala laughs, relaxing, and Wolfgang nods, then nudges Will.

“Pick up Riley, she says she’s sick of being at the house,” he tells him, adding, “and that you can’t cook.”

“She didn’t say that,” says Will, brow wrinkled.

Wolfgang tilts his head in reply, eyebrows raised. Will folds his arms, huffing a laugh, and shakes his head. Kala smiles at this interaction and straightens her quilted jacket, then looks brightly at Ella. She bends down to be closer to her height.

“I think you’ll like my friend Hernando,” she tells her. “He’s very curious like you. He can give you some books if you want.”

Ella nods, smiling, and looks at Wolfgang impatiently.

“I can give you a ride,” he offers to Kala, reaching for Ella’s hand.

She breathes in sharply, glancing quickly at Will and Felix, and then gives a tiny, anxious nod. She didn’t consider this part -- her car is at the school, and she’ll be stranded at the party, at the mercy of Lito, Dani, and Hernando, all who tend to cling to a large glass of cabernet at parties like these. She supposes, if she has to, she can walk if Wolfgang doesn’t want to take her home.

“I have to go with you too,” says Felix, interrupting her thoughts. “My car’s fucked, remember?”

Wolfgang looks at him in blank annoyance. Felix gestures defensively.

“I ran over that air conditioner, remember?”

“You -- what?” asks Kala, unable to help herself.

“An air conditioner fell into the road and he didn’t swerve because he can’t drive,” explains Wolfgang.

“I can drive,” says Felix, outraged. “You can’t drive, man! You drive about as well as someone getting road head, God fucking help you if you actually were--”

Kala prays silently that her cheeks are not as red as they feel. Wolfgang raises his eyebrows at Felix and covers his daughter’s ears. Felix balks and nods rapidly in apology, going quiet, while Will slowly shakes his head and murmurs “yep” to himself in a tone of total unsurprise.

“Ah, I’m going to call my friends to let them know we’re coming…” she says quietly, extracting her phone from her purse and dialing Hernando.

“Car’s this way,” Wolfgang says when she’s done.

She nods and follows him with Felix and Ella to a modest grey sedan. Ella hangs on the door until Wolfgang unlocks it and Felix gets in the back with her to be polite to Kala, who sets her mind before sitting in the passenger’s seat. The car is very clean, though smells distantly of smoke; Kala suspects he smoked before, years ago, and stopped for Ella.

“Is it your birthday?” queries Ella.

“No sweetie, it’s just a party,” explains Kala as she fastens her seatbelt.

“How old are you?” asks Ella.

Kala laughs, then glances at her in the rearview. “How old do you think I am?”

Ella considers. “Ten.”

Wolfgang looks at her too and then meets Kala’s eyes in the mirror. Their mouths both twitch affectionately and then Kala bends her face closer to her lap, covering it to hide laughter.

“How old am I? Wolfgang goes on.

“Eight,” says Ella, nodding.

“That’s right, yeah,” says Wolfgang, chuckling as he sticks the keys in the ignition. “I’m twenty-seven, mausi.”

“No you aren’t,” she says flatly. “That isn’t a real age.”

“It is,” says Kala gently. “He’s twenty-seven. And I’m twenty-five. See, that’s just twenty years more than you. You’ll be twenty-five in twenty years.”

Ella squints, tilts her head, and says cheerfully, “What if I die first though?”

Wolfgang breathes out slowly and shakes his head, then looks at her again in the mirror. “Then you won’t ever be twenty-five.”

“Oh,” breathes Kala in surprise.

“Wolfie tone it down,” sighs Felix. “She’s fucking five...”

“Could you get through a sentence without saying that word?” asks Wolfgang lightly.

Felix gestures hopefully at Kala. “You’re a teacher. You tell him.”

Kala inhales, considering, and says, “It’s good to be honest to children, especially since Ella’s very smart.”

She finds the little girl’s eyes in the mirror, beams, and winks. Ella grins back.

“See,” says Wolfgang to Felix.

Felix shakes his head slowly and doesn’t respond. Wolfgang pulls out of the icy lot and Kala looks at him with gentle appreciation for his honesty, though she notices that his jaw is clenched from the question he just answered. She wants to squeeze his arm, to nestle her nose softly along his cheek and press a comforting kiss on his skin.

She looks away, eyes now fixed, unwilling to pursue these thoughts. She’s unsure if the urge is for him or for her -- for his comfort or out of need-- but both ideas frighten her. She looks at her lap, reflecting for a moment on her offer for them to join her at the party -- she was thankful, yes, but she also wanted a chance to sit with Wolfgang, to study him and let him do the same, even if it was only one night, unrepeated. She looks unwillingly but helplessly at him again and a slow ache begins in her chest -- a need? a regret?

She doesn’t know but she resents him for it. He asks her for directions and she gives them, then clings to her cold chai and breathes in. She settles into the pattern of his life -- Felix teasing, Ella asking -- and listens distantly to the conversation. She wonders if this conversation is like the others, or if her presence has changed it.

Ella rambles for a moment about a woman she calls Auntie Riley, who Kala assumes is pregnant, because Ella’s latest question is an indignant, reluctant query of “but how does Luna Two get out?”

“Okay, mausi, it’s not Luna Two,” says Wolfgang for the second time. “It’s Luna’s little sister. And one day she’ll just…” he trails off.

“Women have a special door,” says Kala. “And when the baby is ready, they open that door, and the baby comes through it.”

“Special door, yeah,” murmurs Wolfgang.

Kala blushes at the veiled discussion of vaginas and breathes in.

“Who opens the door?” asks Ella eagerly.

“The baby, that’s why women are sometimes surprised that they’re having a baby,” says Kala. “It’s the baby’s decision.”

“How does the baby know that?” wonders Ella.

“Well, maybe they’re tired of being in the dark,” suggests Kala, adding more softly, “they just get too big, sweetie. They have to come out.”

Ella is quiet for a moment before complaining, “Why can’t we talk to Luna Two?”

“She can’t hear us,” says Wolfgang, adding, “Her name isn’t Luna Two. They’re going to name her Sonia for Will’s mom.”

“She can hear you,” says Kala. “But she’s little, she doesn’t understand anything.” She turns to Wolfgang and offers, “That’s a nice name. When is she due?”

“Next week,” says Wolfgang.

“Oh,” sighs Kala, smiling too hard to hide a twinge of jealousy.

“Sonia,” repeats Wolfgang at Ella.

“Sonia,” says Ella, nodding.

Kala slides her fingers along the fabric of the seat underneath her, nails grasping, pausing; she breathes in, hyper-aware of her appearance, her tone of voice; her throat is tight and she’s chilly, wanting her bed, a glass of wine, a movie she can laugh at; but she also wants to stay close to Wolfgang for as long as she can.

But she says, “Left here…” to direct Wolfgang and he turns; she watches Dani’s apartment appear. She catches a quick glance exchanged in the mirror -- Wolfgang asking Felix why he agreed to a party with people he doesn’t know, Felix shrugging -- and unbuckles as the car slows. She realizes that she wants to bring Wolfgang into her life, for him to make friends with her friends. _Stupid,_ she tells herself.

They get out of the car, Wolfgang apprehensive, Felix excited, Ella yawning but eager. Kala guides them upstairs. Dani opens the door, looks immediately at Wolfgang, and puffs her lips out in appreciation. Hernando appears too before she can speak and nods.

“Es verdad, él es…” He tilts his head. “...bien parecido.”

“Ay,” sighs Dani.

Kala looks apprehensively at Dani, who is regarding Wolfgang with a specific urge in her dark eyes. Kala recognizes the expression at once, shrieks at herself in her mind for being so stupid, and prays that Wolfgang will be more interested in talking to her. He seems occupied by Dani, however; the moment between them at the station has been lost entirely, unapologetically. His eyes have taken on that hungry characteristic, too, and it’s not for her.

Hernando offers Kala wine and she accepts it immediately; Wolfgang takes a beer, Felix vodka, and Ella some spritzer with juice. Dani grins, aws, and sinks quickly to her knees to squeeze Ella, admiring her wild hair.

“Mm, you must want to cut it off,” she says to Wolfgang as she tugs a curl.

He laughs and Kala stiffens at the sound. “Yeah.”

“She looks just like you,” adds Dani warmly before straightening, and instead of shaking Wolfgang’s hand, she kisses the side of his mouth. “I’m Dani, hi…”

And Kala suddenly knows how tonight will end; she will be alone and they will not be. She knows because Wolfgang’s hands find Dani’s waist and they both laugh. She sips her wine, needy for relief, and her stomach clenches. She doesn’t understand this feeling, but she wants to pry Dani and Wolfgang apart, and she wants to cry.

“Are you okay?” Lito asks her, hugging her from the side as she reaches him.

She nods and he rubs her arm.

“It was a long day, that’s all,” she says.

The apartment smells like cinnamon and chicken chili; as always, it’s slightly too warm, the couches dotted with throw pillows and colorful afghan blankets; the table is piled with plates of bruschetta and old big-band style music burbles from a corner stereo. She recognizes a few of Hernando’s friends from his latest university and sees some of Lito’s as well; she smiles weakly at them and takes a seat near the fireplace, then inhales in surprise when Ella sits next to her.

Ella looks in dislike at Dani and Wolfgang, her lips dipping into a pout after a moment; she sips her juice and leans lovingly on Kala, who doesn’t breathe, unsure.

“Ella?” she asks cautiously.

“He’s ignoring me,” says Ella.

Kala wishes she could reply that she’s being ignored too and sit in righteous, spurned silence with this five-year-old, but she knows that’s inappropriate. She hums and hopes her tone is soft when she says, “You ignore him sometimes to talk to your friends.”

“Who is she?” grumps Ella.

Kala gets the impression that Ella is sometimes shuttled off to Felix’s or Will’s house so that Wolfgang can spend time with women. She frowns slightly at this, questioning the judgment of raising a child in an environment of casual sex, and then she scolds herself for this speculative criticism.

“She’s one of my friends,” says Kala. “She’s a teacher, too.”

They watch as Dani laughs at something Wolfgang said. Kala grits her teeth, annoyed, and drinks her wine; she tells herself she’s setting a bad example for the little girl next to her, brooding and resentful when she should be happy for Dani -- she encouraged Dani to date Wolfgang; she offered her his number; at the time, the thought didn’t turn her stomach to stone.

Ella huffs suddenly. “I like you better.”

Sirens ring in Kala’s mind. “Oh, no, that’s --” She stops talking when she sees Wolfgang pick Dani’s necklace off her skin, his knuckles brushing her breasts. “Oh Ganesha.”

Dani rolls her eyes at this, but leans to whisper something in his ear before turning to refill her wine. Based on his expression, Kala gathers that what Dani whispered was detailed and obscene, so his necklace trick was forgiven. She sees Lito and Hernando exchange a characteristic, long-suffering glance and Dani winks at them. She returns to Wolfgang with a fresh glass of wine and meets him with a smirk that Kala wants to rip off of her face.

“What are they talking about?” asks Ella.

Kala forces herself to exhale. “I don’t know.” She changes the topic. “Did you have a good time at--”

But Ella hugs her and stops her speech. She closes her eyes to prevent unexpected tears from falling. She sends a silent prayer for help -- an interruption, a power outage, anything -- but none come. She opens her eyes reluctantly, Ella still hugging her hard, and bites her lip.

“Oh, it’s okay,” she says soothingly. “Honey, it’s okay...I know how you feel. I know it’s not a good feeling. But it will go away.”

Ella snuggles into her. Kala sighs and sets her glass aside. She knows she shouldn’t do what she is about to do. She knows this girl is not her daughter, and giving her that impression is wrong on many levels. But she feels hurt and alone and, in a rare moment of weakness, she lets herself pretend. She hugs Ella closely and kisses the side of her head.

“How about this?” she asks. “Have you played I-Spy? I’m going to think of something in this room...and you’re going to point at it. Okay?”

Ella nods grudgingly and settles closer on Kala’s lap. Kala smiles at this and circles her arms around Ella, whose hair smells distinctly like oranges. Kala grins and playfully nuzzles Ella’s head.

“You smell...like those little orange candies in the tins,” she tells her. “You know, the ones shaped like orange slices?”

“I love those!” erupts Ella.

“Does your shampoo smell like that?”

“Yeah,” says Ella happily.

Kala’s grin widens and she squeezes Ella. “Okay.” She searches the room, avoiding Dani and Wolfgang, and sees a ceramic turkey on the table. “Hm...I spy...with my little eye...a turkey.”

“Turkeys are stupid,” says Ella placidly.

Kala snorts. “What?”

“They have ugly heads,” Ella continues.

“They...they do,” agrees Kala.

“Why don’t they have feathers there?” asks Ella.

“Um…” Kala reaches for her phone and says brightly, “I don’t know. We will look it up…” She types in the question -- frowns briefly at an article entitled “Human Conflicts with Wild Turkeys: A Bloody History” -- and scrolls down. She reads from Wikipedia and raises her eyebrows. “Well sweetie….it seems that...girl turkeys think that boy turkeys are very cute when they don’t have feathers.”

“Then girl turkeys are stupid,” says Ella, unimpressed.

“Oh, and it functions for heat dissipation…” says Kala, still reading. Then she nudges Ella. “But you never found the turkey.”

Ella looks around the room, then points at the ceramic turkey. “That one is ugly too.”

Kala tsks. “You are being very mean to turkeys right now.”

Ella sighs dramatically as if she is the only one with an objective position on turkey appearance. Kala laughs, but stops abruptly when she thinks to herself _oh, I love this little girl…_

“Okay,” she says, collecting herself. “Now it’s your turn. You find something for me to look for, okay? I’ll close my eyes so I can’t see where you’re looking…”

Ella nods. Kala closes her eyes until Ella tells her to open them.

“So now you say...I spy...with my little eye…”

Ella grins. “I spy...with my little eye...now what?”

Kala laughs. “Whatever you found!”

“Oh,” says Ella. She sighs. “Miss Kala. I have to tell you something.”

Kala stiffens. “Oh?”

“I forgot what I found.”

Kala laughs loudly and squeezes her. “That’s okay. Find something new.”

Ella nods seriously and looks around the room again. Kala is about to close her eyes, but she feels someone’s gaze on her -- she sees Wolfgang, entirely diverted from Dani, staring at her so intensely that she shivers. She notices his grip on his glass is vice-like and she realizes -- with a touch of embarrassment for being so naive-- that he’s never seen a woman interact with his daughter like this, like a mother. The sight clearly startles him, perhaps even scares him, and Kala feels a strange need to defend herself.

She can tell he wants to look away, but can’t -- and now Dani has noticed, looking between Kala, Ella, and Wolfgang, eyes narrowed in confusion. She slides her hand up Wolfgang’s arm, but he doesn’t look away from Kala, who has turned dark pink in the last moment. She aches to break eye contact, she feels caught in a moment of intimacy that was perhaps misguided, but like him, she’s unable to look away. It’s only Ella’s plea that she returns to their game of I-Spy that breaks the spell, and even then, Kala is uneasy and unsettled.

“Okay,” she manages. “What did you find?”

“A hat,” says Ella.

Kala looks quickly at Wolfgang to assure he’s gone back to his conversation with Dani. Then she searches the room for a hat, but before she can find it, there’s a knock at the door. Hernando opens it and Ella launches off of Kala’s lap.

“Luna!”

Kala looks curiously at Will, a girl a few years older than Ella, and a very pregnant woman with light brown hair, kind eyes, who is laughing quietly at something Hernando said. Riley, Kala reminds herself. She sees Riley examine the room, then roll her eyes and tap Will’s arm, urging him to look at Wolfgang and Dani. Will nods and murmurs something to Riley, who covers her face and blushes deeply before shoving him.

They exchange a few words with Hernando and Lito, and while Will hangs back to chat with them, Riley ventures into the apartment, happily takes a piece of bruschetta, and smiles at Kala. She rubs her hand over her tummy, steadies herself, and walks slowly to the couch.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asks.

Kala shakes her head and tries to smile. Riley shakes her hand.

“I’m Riley, Will’s wife, you probably assumed,” says Riley cheerfully. “You must be Kala.”

“Oh,” says Kala in surprise. “I must be?”

Riley grins gently. “Oh...you were a topic at dinner last night.” She directs a look at Wolfgang that is far more affectionate than Kala expected. She shakes her head faintly and smiles around a taste of bruschetta. “I wish he wasn’t so stupid.”

Kala holds very still at what this implies, but Riley quickly laughs, changing the tone.  
  
“Will and I joke that we’re going to find him a girlfriend, even if I have to play that role myself.”

Kala looks at Dani, and for a moment, sisterly concern overtakes jealousy. “He -- he won’t hurt her, will he?”

“Hm?” says Riley in surprise.

“Her last boyfriend didn’t treat her well,” Kala says, euphemizing significantly.

“Oh,” says Riley sadly. “I -- I don’t think Wolfgang has any intention of being her boyfriend.”

Kala breathes in. “Oh.”

Riley brings her lips over her teeth, thinking, and then she puts her head in her hand and shakes it. “He’s never had a girlfriend. But no, he won’t hurt her, no no…”

Kala nervously thumbs along her wine glass, raising it slowly to her mouth for a sip. She looks at Riley, who is now regarding Wolfgang with a soft, bittersweet smile -- not the expression she expected, considering Wolfgang has his hand just above Dani’s ass and she’s close enough to kiss him. It stuns Kala that anyone can meet and within moments determine that they’re interested in sleeping with each other; the culture of apps, bars, and clubs is founded on a phenomenon that is entirely foreign to her.

“Oh, Wolfgang,” remarks Riley, as if she’s watching a movie; her words are a helpless admonishment to the protagonist, who is unable to listen through the screen. She looks at Ella, who is distracted with Luna, and sighs. “I guess tonight will be a sleepover. Watch. He’s about to ask her if she wants to go home with him after this…”

“How can you tell?” asks Kala, disturbed but unable to contain the question.

“He’s going to tuck her hair behind her ear and whisper it,” says Riley knowingly.

Kala looks at her in astonishment. “How -- how many times have you seen this?”

“Too many,” jokes Riley.

Wolfgang tucks Dani’s hair behind her ear and leans closer; she flushes and laughs, then nods spiritedly. She tugs on his collar and smiles, then excuses herself to go into the kitchen. Kala keeps her eyes on Wolfgang. He looks at Felix and sips his beer proudly. Felix flips him off and his lips twitch around the bottle. Kala forces her gaze away, empty, and glances up in surprise when she hears her name called.

“Kala, can you help me with the chili?” calls Dani. “You cook better than me!”

Kala smiles in apology at Riley and Felix for leaving; she stops to refill her wine before entering the kitchen, where Dani immediately grips her arms and lets out a breathy squeal.

“Oh my God, Kala,” she whispers, eyes bright and dazed. “Kala, he is so handsome and funny and his body’s obviously amazing.” She groans impatiently. “I told him I would go to his place, do you think that was too fast? Oh, who cares. I don’t need your help with the chili, I just wanted to scream,” she goes on, releasing Kala. She spins and laughs, overwhelmed. “He smells so freaking good. God.” She picks up a spoon and gestures with it. “I’d let that man do anything to me, ay...”

“Yes, well, have fun,” says Kala as cheerfully as she can manage, sliding her nails along the granite counter before turning and escaping the kitchen.

She’s sure Dani turned in confusion at this response, but she doesn’t look back. She keeps her eyes down, not wishing to attract anyone’s gaze. The party wears on for an hour. Kala doesn’t talk unless she has to, sipping wine, gaze fixed out at the stormy twilight. Hernando, she knows, notices that something is wrong, but she puts out energy that implores to be left alone. She sees Wolfgang glance regretfully at her twice. She’s thankful for the practice her marriage gave her in concealing her emotions.

It’s worse, she thinks, that he’s aware of her disappointment, but does not feel the need to hide his interest in Dani. She knows it’s unfair to expect any loyalty from him, as if the last two field trips sealed something between them, but she can’t help her anger.

Riley sits next to her on the couch after a while, and they watch Dani and Wolfgang talk by the piano.

Riley’s presence comforts her because it reminds her of her sister’s. She relaxes momentarily, sipping more wine, and tells herself that she should be happy for Dani, who is actually attracted to Wolfgang. She tells herself that her interest in him is different -- she simply wants to talk to him, to spend more time with him. She doesn’t want what Dani wants and he wants more than she can give him. It’s better like this.

Then Dani steps closer and kisses Wolfgang. Kala’s fingers clench around her glass, staggered by Dani’s outright nerve, and the cherry sweetness of the wine transforms to acid in her mouth.

“Oh, wow,” murmurs Riley.

Kala stares and says faintly, “We’re -- we’re at a party.”

“Oh, god damn it,” says another voice -- Felix, alongside the couch, observing as Dani pulls away and laughs, spreading her fingers out on Wolfgang’s chest. “We’ve been here a fucking hour. How the fuck does he do that?”

Riley shakes her head softly and soothes her belly for a moment. “I hope your friend doesn’t expect romance.”

“She doesn’t,” says Kala, unable to lift her voice above a whisper.

She drinks her wine, continuing to watch them, confused -- she doesn’t want to be in Dani’s place, but she doesn’t want Dani there either. Dani flushes and moves her hands up to Wolfgang’s shoulders, then whispers in his ear. He nods and Kala watches them move towards the door. Wolfgang says goodbye to Ella and he disappears with Dani into the night.

Kala gets up, wanders into the bathroom, and locks the door behind her. She looks at herself in the mirror and then looks down, tears building, and presses herself hard against the door. She sinks until she finds the floor and cries into her knees.

***

“Mm,” says Dani gently as Wolfgang’s hands find her breasts. “Here...”

She meets his eyes, her hands over his, and then she unhooks her bra. He breathes in as the fabric falls away; she throws her bra and offers her breasts to him, teasing gently as her fingers swipe his cock.

“Kiss my nipples, okay? I love that.”

He sucks on each of them before nipping them. She moans and giggles, and he puts his hand through her hair as they resume a deep, hungry kiss.

The lights are low in his room and she’s on his lap, straddling him; he hasn’t had a chance to sleep with a girl this attractive in a while, and after a day looking at Kala, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to have sex. He made a quick determination that, though Kala seemed warmer today, she wouldn’t be talked into sex -- and even if he likes her, he can’t wait the weeks or months that will require, if she shows the interest at all.

Dani, on the other hand, is here without any coaxing, and he likes the playful, knowing look in her eyes. He suspects she’s just as experienced as him, which he tends to appreciate, because the girls who aren’t are more hesitant, more concerned by his fast pace -- and based on the blowjob she gave him a moment ago, she knows what she’s doing.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, gripping her ass with his hands and urging the string of her thong down.

She grins, reaching between her legs to help him. “Been a while?”

He shakes his head, kissing her. She tastes like honey and apples and he groans, her breasts against him, his fingers slippery between her legs; he twitches them and she moans, and then he slides a hand over her ass and kisses her under her ear.  
  
“No, you’re just good at this and you’re fucking gorgeous..." he says. 

“Yeah, ditto,” she murmurs with a laugh, sliding her hands over his biceps.

He sinks further in the pillows, moving his hands back to her breasts; she slips a condom over his cock and guides herself over it; her lips find his again and he drowns in the moment, mind empty except for her heat around him, the soft and breathy cry she makes. He groans against her lips, intoxicated by the relief of being inside of her.

Later, when she’s resting on his slick chest and inhaling slowly on a cigarette, she turns and touches her nose to his chin. She asks if she can see him again and he hesitates, but she says “like that wasn’t the best sex you’ve had in years” and he laughs and agrees. He expects to go to sleep after he sends her home; he expects blissful blankness.

But he gets Kala instead, and his thoughts of her don’t reflect the ones he had last week, or today at the station; he doesn’t imagine her in Dani’s place. He merely sees her standing before him with wild hair backlit by the sun, a tired smile on her face, eyes that are too easy to lose himself in. He studies his ceiling in consternation, sure he shouldn’t be thinking about Kala only moments after a hot girl was in his bed; if there’s any moment when he shouldn’t feel he’s missing something, it’s this one.

But Kala holds steady in his mind like a candle flame.

***

Kala lifts herself on her elbow in bed, blinking in annoyance at her phone, which is ringing loudly under her pillow. She left the party after numbing her fingers in cold water at the sink and pressing them to her puffy eyes long enough to conceal that she had been crying; she made tea and soup and stared listlessly at the sleet until eleven. She opened her phone repeatedly to look at the picture of herself at the station. And she typed out but deleted several desolate texts to Daya. She eventually went to bed, having exhausted herself with confusion, jealousy, and regret, and told herself she only needed sleep -- sleep that is now being interrupted.

She looks at the display and sees it’s Dani. She closes her eyes for a moment before sitting up more fully, groaning. Her head is heavy from the wine she had. She finds it strange that Dani is calling, and is about to let the ringing expire, but the idea that something could be wrong forces her hand. She answers groggily.

“Oh my God,” shouts Dani. “Lito, are you there too? Are you both there?”

“Yes,” mumbles Lito on another line, yawning.

“Yes,” says Kala, squinting.

“Okay, girls, that was freaking ridiculous, he’s so good, like, I can’t. I’m. I can’t speak.”

Kala closes her eyes again and covers her face. _God_. The jealousy returns, more choleric than before. _She woke me up for this?_ “Where are you?”

“Oh, he kicked me out but it’s cool,” she replies. “Kala, like, you don’t understand. I came three times, okay? He went down on me for fucking ever--”

“Dani, you know I hate these stories,” says Kala measuredly.

“-- and I came twice when we were fucking because he lasts, like, so long. He’s not the biggest guy I’ve ever been with but he’s got nice, you know, thickness,” Dani goes on excitedly, adding with a peal of laughter and a sigh, “and so we’re going to hook up again, I talked him into it because the sex was just that good--”

“Dani, I have to work tomorrow,” interrupts Kala softly.

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” says Dani earnestly. “I just had to call you.”

_No, you didn’t._

“Tell me more, let Kala sleep,” says Lito eagerly.

“Enjoy,” mumbles Kala, hanging up.

She sits up, staring and disoriented. Then she blinks and tells herself firmly that it’s over. She removes herself from the hope that he’s intrigued by her, that he’s patient enough to wait for her to make up her mind.

She knows, even if the first is true, the second isn’t. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfgang asks Riley for advice, Kala confides in Hernando, and Dani overhears something that is not meant for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is two chapters combined but whatever. Mostly Wolfgang's POV (again, sorry.)

Kala turns over in bed as she wakes up, hugging a pillow from the side before stretching her arms and legs. She lingers here, at peace for a moment before her worries filter through the morning haze.

She hasn’t slept well this month, kept awake by unwanted memories and images that make her stomach clench. Lately, all she can do is struggle through her day, return home to pour a glass of wine, open a book, and gently cry instead of read.

She went through a few spells like this when she first got to Berlin, but her feelings were simpler then; she pretends that she doesn’t understand why she feels so grief-stricken now that she has friends and a career. She feels ungrateful to give herself to pity and sorrow, but she can’t help it. She tells herself that a year from now, she’ll struggle to recall why she could barely get out of bed, but this is difficult to believe today.

She sits up, letting all of her breath out; she looks at her lap and runs a tired hand through her hair, then gets up to go through the motions. She grinds coffee and boils water; she rinses the two stray dishes from last night; she goes into the bathroom to wash her face, and at the sight of her exhausted eyes, she returns to the kitchen, dials her school, and says she’s too sick to teach today. She’s only done this once, when she was curled up on the bathroom floor after Lito talked her into trying raw goat cheese.

She slides her phone along the counter after hanging up, quickly wipes her eyes and sniffles to forestall yet another crying session, and forces herself to drink her coffee.

 _You don’t deserve anyone, not now,_  Sahana had snapped at her when Rajan explained they would be getting a divorce.

Kala thought these words couldn’t touch her, because she thought she didn’t want anyone; she was sure she would flourish alone, that she would revel in an empty house. And for almost five years, she proved herself right. But the last two weeks, being alone has crippled her, and ironically, she has felt too dejected to spend time with friends. She craves contact, but deprives herself of it, sure she’ll only dishearten everyone with her presence.

She finishes her coffee, gaze blank as she looks out at the frosty, shimmering street. She wants to see her kids today, but doesn’t want to disappoint them, especially Ella, who is unusually perceptive and would doubtless ask her why she’s sad.

She’s been careful not to play favorites around the other children, but last week when Wolfgang was late to pick Ella up, she was treated to a rare fifteen minutes with just the two of them. Ella chattered to her about how well she can tie her own shoes now and rambled an incoherent story about the time Wolfgang fell down a flight of stairs due to Uncle Felix, and then she shouted that her birthday is just a few days away. Kala, without thinking of the consequences, asked her what gift she would like.

Ella asked for a panda, which Kala jotted down on her list to be polite. Ella’s eyes widened and she asked Kala where they sold pandas. Kala smiled to herself, considering what Wolfgang would say. The black market, probably.

She turns in her kitchen, away from the window, and touches her bare toes lightly to the cabinet in front of her. Then she hoists herself up, sitting on the counter, and finishes her coffee like this. She feels a modicum of relief from the caffeine, perhaps enough to do something more productive than go lie down again, so she considers the chores she has to do.

She decides on laundry, and after making another cup of coffee, she wanders into the bathroom where her washer and dryer are. She’s about to sift through her hamper and sort her clothes into colors when her eyes catch Wolfgang’s scarf on the dryer. A sudden ache settles in her chest. She put the scarf there weeks ago to remind herself to wash it before returning it, but she felt too low to do laundry, and it went forgotten.

She touches her fingers to it, almost afraid, and blinks back big tears. She knows why she feels so depleted, but she refuses to admit it to herself. She swallows hard and lifts the scarf up, intending to add it to her colors pile...but after letting it linger in her hands, she helplessly brings it up her face and breathes in his scent.

Her shoulders sink and she hugs the scarf closer, and then she walks slowly to the living room, lays on the couch, and tucks her face into the downy fabric while she cries.

***

Eight hours later, having washed the scarf and taken a walk to soothe her intense shame, Kala stands on the icy hall outside Wolfgang’s apartment. It’s more dilapidated than she expected, dove grey paint falling in chips, the numbers on the door weathered iron. Leaves collect in the gutters and along the cement beneath her; she looks for a moment through the opening in the wall behind her, back at the street, and then turns and lifts her fist. She lowers it after a moment, securing the scarf in her left arm.

She wonders if she should simply send it home with Ella tomorrow. Traveling so far to return it in person now strikes her as pathetic and sentimental. She swallows, and noting the closed curtains, becomes occupied by a more pressing concern -- what if he isn’t alone? It seems unlikely on a Wednesday evening, but of course not impossible. She debates simply setting the scarf on the step, but then he would know she traveled here and was too shy to see him. She breathes out, then troubles her bottom lip with her teeth. Should she go home? Should she try again tomorrow?

She combs her free hand through her hair, trying to find clarity in the surge of insecurities, and raises her fist again to knock. Then the door swings open, revealing Wolfgang, dressed in a leather jacket and a hat. Ella is next to him in a parka, breathless and open-mouthed, in the middle of speech. Wolfgang freezes and Ella squeals “Miss Kala!” Kala flushes to her toes, so embarrassed that her stomach flips, and gestures wordlessly in explanation.

“I, uh -- I’m--”

It doesn’t help that Wolfgang’s features lend themselves to cold skepticism.

She exhales, knowing she is being unconvincing. “I came here to give you this scarf but then I thought you might have…” She lowers her voice. “Have someone over?”

He shakes his head. “No.” His expression slightly softens. “You know she doesn’t mean anything to me, right?”

Kala blinks rapidly, caught off-guard, and is relieved that he continues to speak.

“I forgot you had that,” he says, glancing at the scarf.

“Yes, well,” she says, lifting it a bit. “So did I.” She fails to suppress a shiver in the wind and offers the package. “I - I meant to bring it earlier--”

“It’s fine,” he says with half a smile, taking it from her; his eyes search her and he’s about to speak, but Ella interrupts.

“Why are you here?” she asks happily.

“I’m returning that scarf,” says Kala. “Do you remember? You gave it to me when I got hurt…”

“But it’s yours now,” says Ella.

Kala laughs. “No honey.” She meets Wolfgang’s eyes and quickly smiles; he mirrors her. “It’s still his.”

“But it was a gift,” maintains Ella, now disgruntled.

“You can keep it--” starts Wolfgang.

“No,” says Kala gently, surprised at the offer. She breathes in. “I’ll go, clearly you’re going out--”

He glances at Ella, then says, “You look cold, you can come in.”

She stares at him. “But you’re…”

He shakes his head. “I can do it tomorrow.”

This strikes her as uncharacteristic. He’s not an accommodating man, certainly not one who would actively urge her to come in -- she could understand it if he was alone, if he thought he could get her into bed, but his daughter is here. She hesitates, confused.

Then she shivers again and gives in. She passes him in the door and Ella trails her, looking up, ecstatic and stunned to see her teacher in her house. Kala turns, taking off her coat, and watches Wolfgang do the same. She asks herself what she’s done by coming inside, saturating herself with more details of his life that she will fall in love with, details she will construct a narrative around, that she will grieve when he is inevitably gone.

“Glass of wine?” he asks.

She nods slowly. “Thank you…”

Ella looks at them, still in her parka, her aqua eyes betraying confusion. Wolfgang goes to her and unzips the coat.

“Change of plans,” he says, patting her side and sending her towards the coat rack.

Kala watches her clamber on a step stool to hang her coat, then looks at the rest of the apartment. It’s neat, sparse, but comfortable; the couch is black but contains a colorful blanket -- Ella’s. There is a wood stove, deep orange coals, and a small television. She notices Ella’s drawings on the fridge and relaxes.

“You didn’t have to invite me in,” she murmurs at Wolfgang as he passes her. “I know it’s snowy but...”

“You can leave if you want,” he says as he takes a glass down in the kitchen.

The remark isn’t cold, but it reflects his awareness that she wants nothing more than to stay.

“I’ll stay until I’m warm,” she says, hoping to stay long after this.

He nods, turning with the glass of wine in his hand; she meets him in the entrance to the kitchen, taking it, and smiles nervously in thanks. He reaches wordlessly into the fridge for a beer, then glances down and exhales, on edge for the first time. She watches him, then drawing a breath for strength, playfully clicks her glass on his bottle. He lifts his eyes instantly to meet hers, startled. She mirrors him, blushing, and freezes in the intensity of his gaze.

After just enough of a pause for her to panic, he smirks and quietly laughs. Relief shoots into her legs and she softens, nearly closing her eyes.

“Prost,” he says coolly.

“Prost,” she agrees.

His smirk gives way to a gentle grin before he drinks. Kala sips her wine slowly, stunned that she managed to charm him, and shifts slightly on her feet. She wants to ask him why he invited her in, especially considering he was about to go out, but she can’t find the words.

“Do you ever get used to this weather?” she queries.

He nods and says, “How are you?”

She nods too, just because he did, then realizes he asked her something. She flushes and hastily says, “Oh, I’m -- I’m fine.”

He glances away, clearly trying not to smile. She runs a hand through her hair and drinks her wine. She wishes he wasn’t so perceptive, yet doesn’t, because she knows she would be far too shy to make her urges known to him. She is about to return the question, but her gaze is drawn to a rough-edged scrape on his hand. She reaches instinctively to soothe it, then pulls back and hopes he didn’t notice.

“How did you do that?”

By now he’s closer, both of them leaning on the counter, pretending they won’t stay there long enough to wants seats. He shrugs.

“My job,” he tells her.

She nods. “Yes, I figured, but how?”

He stretches his hand out and she notes the beautiful imperfections, the roughness of his fingertips. Her breath halts.

“Brushed against something, glove slipped,” he says, uninterested.

“It doesn’t hurt?” she murmurs.

“I don’t notice it,” he says, and she can tell this isn’t a false show of machismo; he’s genuinely unconcerned by it, and she wonders briefly how this is possible.

She studies him for a short moment, the curve of his bicep under his shirt, the shape of his lips, but finds herself drawn to smaller details -- his ears, the tiny start of a wrinkle on his brow, the tip of his nose, his hairline. She floods with affection and alarm.

“Why did you become a firefighter?” she asks, forcing her attention away from his stubble and lashes.

He looks down and smiles without humor. “I thought about joining the military, but that’s ah...asking to be court-martialed, and about being a cop but I’d had enough of that as a kid.”

She breathes in.  _His father was a cop?_

“I’ve never liked studying, had to do something to pay rent,” he goes on quietly, but his tone is unconvincing; she is sure his connection to the job is deeper, but she doesn’t pry.

“You don’t worry what would happen to Ella if something…?” she trails off, flushing at the intimate question.

He shakes his head. “Will and Riley would adopt her.”

“That’s not what I meant,” whispers Kala.

He looks at her over a sip of his beer, interested. She inhales and tousles her hair, hesitating.

“She loves you,” says Kala, hoping this communicates a darker, unspoken question:  _what would she do without you?_

He shrugs. “I loved my mother. She’ll get over it.”

Kala finds this rather facile, but she’s aware that she is still a stranger, uninvited to his more nuanced thoughts. She looks down, humming as she sips her wine, and feels his eyes on her.

“She died when you were young?” she murmurs.

He gives a slight nod and sets his frosty glass on the counter with a clink. She expects an evasive explanation, but he deflects instead. “You moved here after your marriage ended. Why?”

She inhales hard and hopes she doesn’t stammer. “I -- I couldn’t stand to be in Mumbai, I knew Rajan - my, my husband -- I knew he would continue to... “ She lets out an extended sigh. “He never understood why I left.”

“Why did you?” asks Wolfgang mildly.

“Other than being pressured into sex against my will?” murmurs Kala, and then she blinks at herself, unsure why she felt compelled to share this; she could have simply mentioned what she did before, that her infertility was unacceptable to him.

Wolfgang shakes his head and sips his beer. “Fuck him.”

His violent tone surprises and thrills Kala, but she says gently, “He isn’t as bad as most of them.” Then, disgusted at her habit of defending him, she adds, “but I know that doesn’t make him good. I know that.”

“No, it doesn’t...pressuring you into sex isn’t sex,” agrees Wolfgang in a cold tone.

Kala looks up. She didn’t expect this view from him, and now she feels ashamed that she underestimated him. She relaxes slightly despite the topic.

“I know that,” she admits. “But at the time I...I was his wife and…” Her voice fades but grows steely and vengeful. “I was his wife.”

He nods slowly, understanding.

“He never had bad intentions, of course…” she goes on quietly. “But that certainly didn’t obligate me to stay with him.” The words pour from her like water through a crack in a dam; she can’t help it, and she doesn’t understand...she’s only had two sips of wine, her inhibitions shouldn’t be lowered, but looking into Wolfgang’s eyes brings out a confessional side of her; she trusts him with everything she tells him. “Intention, I think, has nothing to do with consequence. It matters, of course, to a driver whether he meant to run someone over or not...but what does that mean to the person he ran over?”

“Getting hurt,” Wolfgang starts quietly, “because someone wants to hurt you is worse than getting hurt on accident. But I know what you mean.” He sips his beer and shakes his head slightly. “What does it matter after years? ‘I didn’t mean to’ doesn’t mean anything when someone’s said it every day to you.”

Kala drinks his responses like nectar; she wants to softly but surely take his hands. She also wants to discover why he relates...she noticed his tone change, just enough to worry her, when he said the words “because someone wants to.”

“No,” she agrees softly. “No, it doesn’t.”

She doesn’t understand why he is the only person she feels she can talk to; she can’t be in love, but nothing else explains these urges, this intimacy. She smiles sadly and drinks her wine, searching the floor, and notices his glossy combat boots. She tilts her head at the good condition they’re in and her mouth twitches helplessly; she hopes her smile hasn’t transformed into a messy, besotted one. She quickly lifts her gaze and breathes in, attempting to hide the surge of affection she just experienced.

He’s smiling in a way that suggests she didn’t hide it well. She’s about to speak, admit that she likes his shoes, but Ella appears between them, looking up at Wolfgang.

“I’m hungry,” she informs him.

He perks his eyebrows and sips his beer, unhurried. “You ate two hours ago.”

“No I didn’t,” says Ella.

Kala smiles. He glances at the clock, then at his daughter, impressed.

“Okay, you ate four hours ago…”

“I can go,” Kala makes herself say. “I don’t want to keep you--” She stops when Ella fixes her with stormy, imploring eyes. She holds her breath. “Hm? What sweetie?”

Ella blinks at her, then walks away without another word. Wolfgang shifts, gaze downcast, and drinks his beer. Kala looks at him with a question in her eyes.

“She’s grumpy lately,” he explains. He lifts one of his shoulders, almost a shrug, and glances at her. “You’re her favorite right now.”

“Me?” asks Kala in surprise.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re all she talks about.”

Kala’s eyes flash from Wolfgang to the little girl who has taken up a defiant post on the couch, arms folded; she resembles her father remarkably, from the wrinkle on her brow to her unyielding posture. Kala thumbs over the stem of her glass, unnerved, and runs her free hand through her hair. She reflects on her time with Ella last week, the closeness and warmth she felt, and suddenly feels a surge of sickening shame. She can hardly imagine anything more selfish than inviting a motherless girl into her life, allowing her to become close, all while knowing she has to say goodbye.

“I…” she starts softly, watching Wolfgang as he studies Ella in concern. “I don’t find that too surprising.” She can’t help excusing herself, though she knows she’ll agonize over this later. “Many children admire their teachers, you know...”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs uncertainly.

Kala fights an instinctive urge to sit next to Ella and comfort her with a hug.

“Maybe she just misses you,” says Kala. “I know you don’t always get to spend time with her.”

He nods, reserved. Kala senses his response would not have been particularly kind if he had let himself speak. She quickly looks away, unsure what to do, and watches as Ella slides off the couch and rests her chin on the coffee table. She starts to play dully with a coaster and Wolfgang lets out a quiet, annoyed breath.

“Ella,” he says. “If you’re going to look sad on purpose, you can do it in your room.”

Kala looks at Wolfgang, tense. “She just  _is_  sad, Wolfgang.”

“You’d know,” he says with a slight smirk before sipping his beer.

Kala sets her wine down; she finds this remark disorienting. He invited her in, offered her a drink, and suddenly he’s found fault with her. If he was perturbed with her for getting so close to Ella, why invite her in at all? She’s about to speak, to defend herself against this comment, but Ella gets up.

She sits near the woodstove and takes a coloring book and bag of crayons out of a toy basket near it. She starts to color, still pouting somewhat, and Kala looks down. She thinks again about her time with Ella last week, chest clenching.

“Was there something in particular that she told you I did?” she asks in a small voice.

He meets her eyes for a moment. “You asked her what you should get her for her birthday. Do you usually do that?”

“I..” Kala stumbles, flushed, and searches for the words. “No.”

She opens her mouth again, but pauses, watching Ella’s eyes track headlights from outside as they move across the woodstove. Ella tilts her head, curious, and reaches her hand out.

Kala inhales in alarm, a warning on her lips. Wolfgang begins to say Ella’s name, noticing the same thing, and steps forward to stop her, but it’s too late. Ella presses her hand firmly to the stove to touch the light, then jerks it away with a sharp yelp of pain and starts to cry. Kala rushes to her alongside Wolfgang and watches anxiously as he holds her close.

“Hey, hey, let me see,” he says urgently, tone transformed to one with deep warmth and concern.

Ella shakes her head rapidly, cradling her hand; she struggles in his arms, and then launches against Kala, clearly communicating who she wants comfort from. Kala nearly swears and she closes her eyes briefly before hugging Ella. She reluctantly looks at Wolfgang, fearing anger, but what she sees is worse -- it’s just a flicker in his eyes, but she recognizes the emotion. He’s hurt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to him, before urging to Ella, “honey, show your papa your hand, he’s going to fix it!”

Ella sobs into her side. She shifts on her knees for a more comfortable seat, squeezing Ella tighter, and looks again at Wolfgang. She opens her mouth, but he shakes his head slightly to show her that they can speak later. He uncurls Ella’s arm gently, then her fingers, and breathes out. Kala watches him in the flickering vermillion light from the woodstove.

“You’re okay, mausi,” he murmurs after a moment.

Kala’s eyes leap into his. “Oh, thank God.”

“It’s not a bad burn,” he adds quietly. “She’ll be okay with some ice…”

Kala nods and rubs Ella’s side. “It’s okay. I know it hurts, but it’s okay…”

Wolfgang gets to his feet and returns a moment later with an ice pack and a chocolate bar. He kneels next to Kala, who in his brief absence dried some guilty tears that sprang, and puts his hand on Ella’s back.

“Ell?” he asks softly. “I have something for your hand…” She shakes her head. He takes her hand again and presses the ice pack into it. “Squeeze that, okay?”

Kala nudges Ella to turn in her lap. Ella hiccups and sobs, but squeezes the ice pack and looks warily at Wolfgang. He lifts up the chocolate bar.

“Do you want some?” he asks.

She regards the chocolate, considering, and sniffles. He thumbs her tears off her cheeks and she finally nods. He smiles slightly and unwraps the gold foil around the bar. He hands her a large piece and she sucks on it; more tears leak out and she snuggles again into Kala while she slowly chews the chocolate. Kala watches Wolfgang, hopeful that this incident -- despite reflecting the misguided bond she formed with Ella -- will make him forget their disagreement.

But as he smooths Ella’s hair, he says to her, “What made you think getting close to a little girl you have to say goodbye to was a good idea?”

Kala’s grip on Ella tightens and she stops breathing, stung. She blinks rapidly and swallows, and then to her horror, she starts to cry. The heartbreak she’s been fighting for weeks swells to a sudden climax. Based on Wolfgang’s expression, he was not expecting this -- he looks at her in stunned alarm, frozen.

“I -- I just want a child so badly,” she squeaks, unable to help herself. “It was stupid, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so selfish but Ella...Ella is so sweet and I get along with her so well and...I think I wanted to pretend, just for a while...”

He stares at her. She tips her head down, unable to dry her tears while her arms are around Ella, and tries to hide behind her hair. She stays this way for a moment, the only noise Ella’s sniffles and the crackle of the stove next to her. She is too embarrassed to breathe or to move; she wants to simply vaporize.

Then her eyes fly open at a touch. She looks up to see Wolfgang’s hand on her arm, slowly stroking it. She meets his eyes, shocked, then cries harder and throws her arms around him. She hears him inhale in surprise, but he hugs her back without hesitation. She shuts her eyes and sniffles into his shoulder, flooding with joy and relief.

They stay in this strange position for a moment, both of them kneeling, contorted in a hug around Ella. Finally, embarrassed anew at this show of weakness, Kala pulls away. Ella gets up and sits cross-legged next to her, staring at her, then at Wolfgang.

“I’m sorry,” Kala repeats.

Wolfgang gives a small shake of his head, unable or unwilling to speak. She studies him, pulse pounding, adrenaline up from being in his arms. Her mind returns to her confusion from earlier. He let her in. True, she is sorry for interacting so intimately with Ella, but he let her in. He gave her yet another opportunity to get inappropriately close to his daughter; he let her in their home, like a friend, like a lover.

“I...I am sorry,” she whispers cautiously. “But you let me in. Why did you let me in?”

She can tell by his expression that she’s caught him. He averts his gaze and breathes out heavily, eyes drifting.

“I shouldn’t have,” he admits.

“But why did you?” she pushes, wiping her face again.

“Why do you think?” he settles for, and then he gets quickly to his feet.

Kala mirrors him, hugging herself, and then she takes her jacket from the chair nearby. She leans down to smile tearfully at Ella.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says with as much cheer as she can manage.

Then she straightens up, shoulders her purse, and looks dismally at Wolfgang. She wants him to speak. To ask her to stay. To apologize and offer another glass of wine. But he folds his arms and glances down, stony. She slowly shakes her head at this pointless restraint, then bites the inside of her cheek, forces herself out the door, and walks into the blizzard.

  
***

Wolfgang rubs a hand slowly over his face as the door closes. He stares at it, listless, then mumbles aloud, “What the fuck was that?” He looks at Ella, still sniffling, chocolate-mouthed. He breathes out heavily and picks her up, kissing the side of her head.

“Are you okay?” he checks.

She nods. He squeezes her and pats her side.

“Okay,” he says gently. “But you’re sad?”

She nods again, tucking her head against his neck. He thumbs along her side, angry at himself for directing undeserved annoyance at her.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she mumbles.

His chest clenches. “No, no, mausi. I’m not mad at you.”

She sniffles and breathes out in a huff. He settles her more comfortably in his arms and walks to the kitchen, retrieving his beer from the counter; he looks at the near-empty glass of wine, noting the imprint of dark plum lipstick, and his fingers linger near it. He knows he’s just as responsible as Kala is for creating this confusion. He knows he should have put Kala out of his mind immediately for Ella’s sake and that his failure to do this reflects the kind of immaturity and selfishness that should have excluded him from fatherhood.

Of course, that same immaturity and selfishness contributed directly to Ella’s existence. He feels sometimes that he should have grown up more in the last six years. He knows he’s a good father, good enough; he has a decent job, he pays his bills. But he finds himself caught by wild, needless urges, and wanting Kala has been a hard one to shake.

He sets Ella on the counter next to the stove, about to reach into the cabinets for some noodles, when his phone buzzes. He glances at it, hoping it’s Kala, and sees it’s from Dani.

Dani, 18:06 -- _Hey, can I see you tonight?_

He exhales and quickly texts back.

Wolfgang, 18:06 -- _No. Tomorrow._

He puts the phone on mute and tosses it aside. He sets his mind, then squeezes Ella’s waist and digs his thumbs in, tickling her. She giggles reluctantly, and after a moment, kicks her feet and laughs through an enormous grin. He grins too and nudges her forehead with his nose.

“Okay,” he says brightly. “Want to help? I can get your stool…”

She nods. He wipes the lingering chocolate off the corner of her mouth, and then she glances down at the ice pack in her hand. He holds up a finger and goes into the bathroom for some medical wrap; when he returns, he carefully takes the ice pack, then wraps her bright pink hand snugly. He pinches her chin.

“Don’t touch the wood stove,” he says. “You know that.”

“Pretty light,” she replies.

He snorts. “Yeah, well, use your eyes, not your hand.”

She nods. He watches her a moment before smiling, then opens the cabinet, protecting her head form the corner with his hand. He takes out some noodles, then leans to grab her fold-up stool from beside the fridge. He helps her onto it and she looks up at him, contemplating, then grins and reaches exuberantly for a spoon.

He sinks into the familiar rhythm of making dinner with her for a few minutes. She meticulously peels three garlic cloves after he smashes them with a knife-- a job she strangely enjoys -- and he chops up some zucchini. She reaches for a piece and eats it raw, frowning, and he shakes his head.

“You’ve got to stop putting everything in your mouth,” he says.

“But this is food!” she belts out.

He cracks up. “Uh, yeah, but it’s raw. It’s better after we cook it.”

She holds up a clove of garlic, uninterested in his commentary about zucchini. “Why does it have a coat?”

He slowly grins and shakes his head. “Don’t know.”

She hums, disappointed, and moves the clove closer to her mouth. He pushes her hands back to the cutting board, rolling his eyes as he murmurs, “No, not that.” He reaches to the side and slices a piece of cheese, replacing the garlic in her hand with that.

She munches the cheese, watching him as he slides the zucchini into a pan, then looks down at her bandaged hand. She tilts her head, dissatisfied, and Wolfgang watches her from the side.

“What?” he asks.

She sighs dramatically, then puffs her lips out like a fish, unsure how to express herself; he frowns affectionately at her and turns.

“What?” he says again.

She sticks her hand out. “It doesn’t have names.”

He squints. “Names?” Then he breathes in, remembering that children often get their friends to sign their casts. He laughs. “Oh, okay, here…” He stretches for a pen in the drawer closest to the fridge, then balances her hand on the counter and gently signs it.

She looks closely at the signature, then at him. “What’s that?”

“It’s my name,” he replies.

“No it isn’t,” she informs him.

“It’s cursive, well, shitty cursive...here,” he says, grabbing some paper and signing her name this time. “That’s yours. It’s how adults write.”

“Why?” she asks.

“It’s faster,” he tells her.

She places three chubby fingers on the loops of the E, then flutters her lips.

“What, you don’t like it?” he asks, faking offense.

“No,” she says simply.

He laughs and shifts on his feet to stir the pan. He glances at her as she studies the signature on her bandage and sees she’s smiling now. He smiles too, more softly than she is, and breathes out, finding an unexpected moment of solace. He doesn’t understand what transpired with Kala, but for now, he doesn’t care. Ella comes before anyone else; he’ll protect her happiness before seeking his own, not because his parents failed to do this, not because of a societal obligation to do so. He’ll make sure she’s happy because she deserves nothing less.

“What did you do today?” he asks her while opening the box of noodles.

She breathes in excitedly and seeks his eyes. “We got these glasses! And water! And Miss Kala…” She pauses, gesturing with her arms in a circular motion.

“Shook them?” he asks.

“Yeah! And we saw tornados.”

“In the glasses?” he asks.

She nods hard and makes a swirling motion. “Like this!”

“Yeah, they can pick up houses, did you know that?” he asks, chuckling.

“Where do the houses go?” she asks.

“They fall apart in the air,” he says, adding, “your grandmother saw a big tornado in 1984. She was ten and she hid in the bathroom.”

“Who?” asks Ella.

“My mama,” he says with a glance. “You know that.”

“Yeah,” agrees Ella quietly, going back to the garlic.

Wolfgang offers her another piece of cheese to hold her over, watching her. He decides to say nothing else, but he kisses the top of her head and holds her from the side for a moment. He’s sure his mother would have loved Ella with an open-hearted intensity that he couldn’t match; he knows Ella would have found the idiosyncrasies that frightened him funny. He breathes in, wanting to connect to his mother through more than memory, and looks at Ella with a sudden surge of gratitude. He knows if he was a woman, Ella’s childhood would be defined by shame, the way his was.

Instead, he’s an unlikely, pitied hero. He’s doing the job that wasn’t expected of him. He’s raising a child. He breathes out slowly as Kala filters into his mind. She was all but excommunicated from her culture because she tried desperately to have a child and failed; he’s hailed as a role model because he kept a child he never intended to have. He wonders for a moment what the consequences might be if it was her husband, not her, who was unable to have a child; he’s sure, somehow, that he would have been excused. The blame, however subtly, would have been shifted to her, because women are easy to blame. Anyone who is rightly afraid to fight back is easy to blame.

He looks again at his daughter. He’ll try to shield her from the danger he knows every woman experiences, but he knows he can’t protect her forever. His mind drifts once more to Kala and he feels a surge of acidic dislike for her ex-husband. When he first heard her speak about her divorce, he wondered if her husband was violent; he knows now he wasn’t, but he doesn’t find much peace in this. Her husband didn’t have to hurt her to devalue her. He remembers his mother explaining this when he was young. It doesn’t matter how it feels. It matters what it means.

He drains the last two inches of his beer. He suspects Kala’s husband was aware of her discomfort, but passed it off as temporary; and if not that, interpreted it as insincere, a strange hesitancy unique to women. Regardless, his comfort and pleasure mattered more than hers did.

Wolfgang looks down. In his heart, he didn’t break the hug. He kept her close. He held her while they made dinner for their daughter, and he stroked her temple with his thumb as she fell asleep in his arms. He knows that anyone else would interpret these urges as love, and he knows indistinctly that he should too; but he doesn’t, because he can’t.

He turns to reach the fridge for another beer, but he stops, eyes locked on the scarf she brought.

“Papa?” asks Ella, wanting a new activity.

He forces a smile and hands her some lettuce to break into bite-size pieces. She grins, unaware of the pit in his stomach, and proudly tears the leaves up.

 

***

  
Wolfgang devotes the next day to distraction. After dropping off Ella, he drives to the station and lifts weights until his arms ache; he drinks a pot of coffee and reads a book that Will left lying on the counter; he talks about soccer with Felix, waiting for calls to come in, and texts Dani so she’ll divert his attention with pictures he shouldn’t open at work.

Despite all of this, Kala’s broken voice echoes, and he begins to compose an apology in his mind as he waits for his shift to end. He gets relief only when the siren rings, and finds himself hoping to hear it more often. He knew from the start that he should be gentle with her, but he failed to do that, providing her with more proof that she should stay away from him.

He tells himself he wants her to, that her cyclical presence in his life is an annoyance, but he knows that he wants nothing more than to go home and find her waiting at the door like she was yesterday; he wants another chance with her alone -- he wouldn’t make her cry or hypocritically shame her. He would simply listen, and stare, and kiss her if she let him.

He glances out the foggy window at the station, stiff and hungry, and glances up as Will passes by.

“Everything good?” checks Will as he disappears into his office.

Wolfgang makes an affirmative sound and drinks the last cold inch of his coffee. His phone bings and he sees the message is from Dani. He knows he needs a more powerful distraction if he’s to get Kala off his mind, so he calls to Will, “Can I leave early?”

“No,” says Will, his tone so jaded and dull that Wolfgang almost snorts.

“Why d'you want to leave?” asks Felix, entering the kitchen from the bunks, yawning and shaking his hair out.

“Dani,” mumbles Wolfgang.

“Can’t believe how long you’ve kept her around,” says Felix, opening the fridge. He pulls out a pint of juice and takes a swig directly from it. “You don’t like her, right?”

“No, she’s too much like me.”

“That might be a good thing, Wolfie, she could understand you,” says Felix.

“I don’t want her to understand me,” replies Wolfgang. He checks his watch, 17:55, and leans his head back in annoyance.

Felix squints suddenly at him. “You sent Ella to Riley and Will’s? You know Riley has a baby that’s two weeks old, right? Wolfie, c’mon man, you’re such an asshole...you can’t just sneak Dani in the window or some shit?”

“And give Ella earplugs?” asks Wolfgang, adding, “Why aren’t you volunteering?”

“I’m going clubbing tonight!” says Felix indignantly.

Wolfgang rolls his eyes and his phone bings again. He glances at it and slides open the lock screen to see a picture from Dani -- her legs are open under a desk, and one of her fingers has whisked her panties to the side to show him everything. A new text comes in: _if you make me wait much longer I’m going to call Lito’s cute actress friend._ He breathes in to calm himself and raises his eyebrows.

“I’ll kill Will if we get a call,” he says quietly.

“She’s fucking sexting you, isn’t she,” says Felix. “Unbelievable…”

Wolfgang pushes on Felix’s shoulder and sends him careening towards the fridge. He hits it and a magnet falls off, and Will rolls his chair to the edge of his office and glances out. Felix points at Wolfgang, but Wolfgang doesn’t acknowledge Will’s hard stare; he texts Dani back.

Wolfgang, 17:57: _You’re not more important than Berlin_

Dani, 17:58: _I’ll burn down Berlin myself if this takes any longer._

He smirks slightly, but doesn’t get the chance to type because Felix elbows him hard.

“You do like her,” he says meaningfully.

Wolfgang raises his eyebrows. “I like fucking her.”

“You’re an ass,” dismisses Felix, calling to Will, “Hey, Will, explain to Wolfgang that he’ll never find love and he’ll die alone!”

“You’ll never find love and you’ll die alone!” Will shouts back.

“Fine with me,” mumbles Wolfgang, pocketing the phone and reaching for his jacket on a nearby hook.

He leaves two minutes early, which he’s sure will be mentioned tomorrow by a grinning, sanctimonious Will. He hurries down the stairs, texting Dani that he’ll pick her up, and arrives fifteen minutes later at Ella’s school; he finds Dani waiting along the curb, shivering, and he leans to throw the passenger door open for her.

“Why are you here this late?” he asks.

“Christmas decorations,” she says, slamming the door before clambering closer and straddling his lap. She nips at his lips and says breathily, “Let’s do it here, I took my panties off inside…”

For a moment, Kala fades from his mind. He shuts his car off and they sway together in the dark; he impatiently unbuttons her blouse and tugs her bra down and she works quickly to unzip his pants; they kiss and grab at each other restlessly, fogging the windows, and he leans his seat back before thrusting into her. She groans and moves with him, and he watches her in the low light from the street nearby; he takes her breasts in his hands and drives into her harder, but then her lips find his and she moans into his mouth, and this soft gesture lets him imagine.

Suddenly, she’s Kala, and suddenly he wants to meet her eyes, breathe out on her mouth, express his affection through touch. His eyes slip shut and he groans, his grip tightening on the woman he’s replaced in his mind; he focuses on her heat around him, and imagines Kala’s corkscrew hair falling around his face. He hears Kala in his mind, breathy as she gently teases and talks to him.

When he comes later, his mind is still on Kala; he’s surprised he doesn’t moan her name. Dani shifts breathlessly to the passenger seat and balances her hand on her dewy brow, then looks at him.

“Hey, I hope you get to fuck the woman you were thinking about,” she murmurs with a smile.

He stares at her.

She shrugs. “Look, it’s okay. I think about other people too.” She smooths her skirt down, buttons her blouse, then takes her purse from the floor. “This is just fun, Wolfgang, don’t worry so much about it.” She shoulders the purse and nudges the door open. “Tschüß.”

“Tschüß,” he says faintly as the door shuts.

He looks after her for a moment, then zips his jeans and starts the car. He pulls out of the lot, unsatisfied, and turns towards Will and Riley’s house.

***

Riley appears in the doorway in a heavy cotton robe, frizzy hair, deep bags under her eyes; she has Sonia crooked in her arm, swaddled in a yellow blanket. She looks at Wolfgang without expression, then shuts her eyes and exhales; she rubs her face exhaustedly before meeting his gaze.

“What’s going on?” she asks mildly.

He hesitates, muscles tense. He looks away, gives a small shake of his head, and rubs the back of his neck. “Can I come in?”

Riley’s shoulders sag and she whispers, “Wolfgang, c’mon...”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, leaning on the doorframe.

“I thought you were with Dani…” Riley continues, soothing Sonia as she fusses.

“I was,” he says dully. “Can I talk to you?”

“Oh no,” murmurs Riley, but she opens the door more widely.

She shuffles through the dimly-lit living room, keeping Sonia close, and into the spacious, messy kitchen. She takes a mug down from the cabinet and flutters her fingers against a tea dispenser to dislodge one of the foil-wrapped bags.

“Anything stronger?” asks Wolfgang quietly.

Riley looks at him over her shoulder, gauging, but she nods and goes for the fridge. Wolfgang breathes out hard, impatient, and crosses the kitchen to reach into a bottom cabinet, fishing around behind cleaning supplies. He extracts a bottle of vodka and gestures sheepishly with it as she stares at him, her hand around a beer.

“Will keeps this around for me,” he admits.

Riley continues to stare, but the corner of her mouth twitches. She starts to shake her head, gently grinning, and looks at him with bright eyes after a moment. “You do know your life’s a mess, yeah?”

He lifts the bottle to his mouth, drinks, then gestures at himself and asks, “What are you talking about?”

“So what happened?” she murmurs.

He pauses, reluctant, and eventually replies, “I fucked up with Kala. Or she fucked up with me. Something. But it’s fucked up and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Riley squints, leaning on the counter. “Kala?”

He sets the bottle aside and reaches for a glass to pour a serving into. He keeps his gaze averted as the liquor swirls in the crystal. He’s about to speak, but Sonia starts to whimper and he goes quiet. Riley brings her face close to her daughter, studying, and sighs quietly after a moment.

“She’s hungry,” she says tiredly.

She yawns and nods her head towards the living room, asking Wolfgang to go with her. He picks up his drink and follows her listlessly, then sits on a chair opposite the couch. She settles with Sonia and shifts her robe open for her to nurse. Wolfgang leans forward, elbows on knees, and puts a weary hand through his hair. He takes a moment to glance out the window at the snow, heavy with thoughts he’s compelled to share, unsure how to share them.

“How are you?” he mumbles.

“Oh, I’m exhausted, my nipples hurt, and I’m having the equivalent of a six-week period,” she says cheerfully. “How are you?”

He inhales, blinks, and drinks. “Glad I’m not you.”

She rolls her eyes affectionately and thumbs over Sonia’s wispy hair, then meets his eyes, waiting for a real answer. He shakes his head and drinks more, eyes searching the distorted lights beyond the window, gold and green. The alcohol has already dulled him, made him somewhat less afraid of vulnerability. He breathes in and rubs a thoughtful thumb over his lips, then hangs his head lower and chuckles without humor.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about her tonight,” he says. “When I was with Dani.”

“When you were...oh,” says Riley. “Oh, you pictured her?”

“I’ve never done that,” he tells her.

“You’ve never pictured anyone?” whispers Riley, cradling Sonia in a more comfortable position. She smiles slyly. “What about Rihanna? Gina Rodriguez?”

Wolfgang drinks and slowly flips her off.

“I had to listen to you and Felix rank celebrities for an hour at Thanksgiving,” retorts Riley. “I get to make fun of you.”

Wolfgang lifts his brows. “Felix started it--”

“You like Kala,” Riley interrupts firmly.

“I don’t know,” he says, noticing the click of a nearby clock, the shush of wind outside. He stares at the dark carpet and slides his thumb along his glass.

“Why else would you think about her?” wonders Riley.

“I want to have sex with her,” he says with a shrug.

“Wolfgang!” whispers Riley impatiently. “You can want to have sex with her _and_ like her!”

He drinks more, hoping his desire to talk fades, relying on Riley to scoff playfully at his behavior and suggest a dumb movie.

“She came over,” he says, unable to help it. “Kala. She came in and we talked, and I…” He closes his eyes at the memory and continues quickly, “She can’t have kids and her ex fucked her over for that, and she…” He swears softly under his breath. “She got close to Ella and I told her she shouldn’t have and she…”

“Oh God, you fought?” asks Riley.

“No, she started to cry,” he replies. “She asked me why I let her in.”

“Why did you?” asks Riley, sinking deeper in the couch with Sonia.

“I don’t know,” he lies.

Riley huffs sympathetically and says, “She can’t have children? Is that why she became a teacher?”

“I don’t know,” says Wolfgang again, adding after a sip, “she had to leave Mumbai, her husband and his family treated her like it was her fault.”

“How awful,” says Riley, pained.

He nods and drinks, arms heavy now, vision slow. “She hugged me.”

“She what?” asks Riley, soft but surprised. Then she leans forward. “Did you sleep together?”

He shakes his head and Riley holds still, considering.

“No, she...she looked at me like she wanted to stay but I…”

“Made her leave,” guesses Riley. “Wolfgang, why --” She breathes out in frustration. “Why are you so afraid of this?”

“I’ll fuck it up and she doesn’t deserve that,” he says flatly.

Riley ties her robe again and soothes Sonia with a soft bounce. She bites her bottom lip in thought, then puts her hand through her mussed hair.

“Since when did you worry about hurting the girls you’re with?” she asks.

He looks at her, confused by this response, and takes a long, slow drink. She glances away, smiling, and shakes her head in a mixture of pity and amusement.

“What?” he asks.

“You don’t want to hurt her,” says Riley. “You care about her, you want her to have what she deserves...you would be good to her, Wolfgang, and you know that--”

“I’m not even dating her and I made her cry,” her retorts, throwing back the rest of his drink and getting up for more.

“What you said was really reasonable--”

“No, it wasn’t,” he says insistently from the kitchen, uncapping the vodka. “I let her in.” He pours more. “I can’t be with her. I don’t know what I would tell Ella when it ends.”

“So you aren’t going to date anyone until Ella is grown up?” asks Riley as he comes back into the den. “That isn’t very healthy, for you or for her...she’ll feel guilty, like it’s her fault you were alone for so many years…”

He sits down again and runs his hand through his hair. “She’s five, she can’t understand any of this, she’ll think I took Kala away from her for no reason…”

Riley sighs and pets Sonia’s nose for a moment, then gets up with a quiet groan and passes Wolfgang. She squeezes his shoulder and returns a moment later after putting Sonia in her crib. She sits next to Wolfgang and wraps her arms around him, setting her chin gently on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Hugging you? Why are you like this?”

He laughs dejectedly, shakes his head, and drinks. She rubs his arm and leans on him and he closes his eyes for a moment because the room has begun to whirl slightly; he feels lighter, sleepy, and a bit overstimulated; the room, Riley, and the percussion of the rain on the window combine and lull him to a new state. He forces himself to blink, suddenly aware how drunk he is, and breathes in as he glances at Riley.

“Ella won’t understand it,” she says gently, “and she’ll be mad at you for a while...but I think you really like Kala, and I don’t think that’s ever happened to you...think about what you’re depriving yourself of, and Ella, if you don’t at least try this...what if you end up together the rest of your lives?”

He snorts and drinks. “Right.”

“God,” sighs Riley, releasing him from the hug. She stretches to reach her cup of tea on the coffee table and drinks some. “You’re too hard on yourself. You think you’ll ruin everything but you’ve never actually tried to be in a relationship…you could surprise yourself, you know…you’re a wonderful father and you care so much about Berlin and you’re talented and intelligent--”

“--and I’m a withdrawn, joyless asshole,” he adds, gesturing like he’s giving a toast.

“You’re _drunk_ ,” whispers Riley with a laugh. She shakes her head. “Wolfgang, why did you leave with Dani at that party? I saw you looking at Kala…and so did she.”

“You know why,” he says shortly, drinking more. Then he looks at her. “She did?”

“She was watching you the entire night,” Riley informs him. “We talked about you. She was worried you might break Dani’s heart…”

Wolfgang rubs a hand over his face. “Shit, what did you tell her?”

“I told her it was casual, that you don’t date,” replies Riley.

He laughs darkly. “Funny.”

“What’s funny?” asks Riley, frowning.

“That’s what she told me when I asked her out,” he says.

“Then you’re perfect for each other,” says Riley brightly, nudging him with her elbow.

He shakes his head and takes another sip of vodka before setting it aside, in need of food. He leans back on the couch, light eyes scanning the rainy dusk, and he slowly exhales. He crosses his arms behind his head and sets his foot on the coffee table. He reflects on the truth of Riley’s earlier statement...the only risk he’s taking by being with Kala is some short-lived disappointment for his daughter, but if he lets her go now, if he doesn’t try, he could be depriving them both of a lifetime together.

“I can’t believe you came over and got drunk when I have a newborn,” Riley mumbles affectionately, leaning on him again.

He puts an arm around her and reaches for his glass again. “I can.”

“I’m going to fall asleep on you,” she warns him. She yawns hugely. “Do you feel any better?”

“No,” he replies.

“Great,” she murmurs.

He breathes in deeply and stretches, blinking, drunk enough not to feel the weight of his worries. He glances at Riley and squints slightly.

“You smell nice,” he observes. “Why do women always smell good?” He hums drunkenly. “I love women.”

“Oh my God,” whispers Riley.

He drifts in thoughts of soft skin, clavicles, needy fistfuls of hair, sweet sweat and breathy gasps; he breathes in as Kala forms in his mind and his eyes flash open. He rubs his head.

“Fuck, what do I do?” he mumbles.

“Invite her to the Christmas party,” says Riley tiredly.

He nods, too drunk to argue, and then looks up at a small sound in front of him. He sees his daughter, dressed in cozy bird-patterned pajamas, hair wild, dragging a small toy cat. She blinks curiously at him.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “I forgot she was here. Riley, fuck, I’m so drunk…” He starts to laugh at the sight of Ella’s hair and he leans forward, grabbing her in his arms. “C’mere, trouble…”

Ella grins and snuggles against him. Riley chuckles and gently pinches Ella’s ear.

“Are you sleeping here too?” whispers Ella to Wolfgang.

“Yes, he is,” says Riley firmly.

“No, we can...we can take the…” The word for underground public transit escapes him. He waves his hand in this air. “The thing. You know.” He laughs. “Train.”

“Oooh-pan,” says Ella.

He laughs harder. “Yeah. Oooh-pan.”

“I’m not letting you take the U-Bahn, you’ll end up in Munich by mistake,” murmurs Riley.

Wolfgang nods and sits up slightly, squeezing Ella closer. He smiles blearily and dots kisses on the side of her head, then plays with her hair. “Why are you up?”

Ella shrugs. Wolfgang squints and scrutinizes her hair, which resembles a bale of hay that had a bad day. He frowns.

“How’d you even end up with this hair?” he mumbles, gathering it into two sloppy pigtails. He laughs at the effect and glances at Riley. “Look at her, she’s perfect…”

“I think I like you better when you’re drunk,” jokes Riley, laughing. “You’re sweeter.”

Wolfgang turns back to Ella, nodding, and tugs one of her curls. “You could ask me for anything right now and I’d say yes.”

Ella watches him, unsure how to interpret his current disposition, and he laughs at her diffident expression and tickles her. She giggles and pushes him away, so he puts his arms up, pretending to protect himself. Ella grins and flexes her arms and he laughs so hard his stomach hurts. Riley smiles warmly, her eyes flashing quickly into his, and he shakes his head slowly at his daughter. He gingerly kisses her nose.

“Papa, you’re acting silly,” she informs him.

He smiles and nods, then sits up and nudges her in front of him. He combs his fingers through her hair and attempts the pigtails again, and Riley chuckles and takes two clips from her own hair and hands them to him. He secures them in Ella’s hair and tugs on her ears.

“There, mausi,” he says quietly.

He leans back again and Ella clambers onto his lap, yawning. He hugs her and closes his eyes for a moment, then looks at Riley and finds her watching them with a gentle, dimpled grin. He smiles slightly in response, about to thank her for talking, but the front door opens and Will walks in. He stops short, staring at the three of them, and then his shoulders sag and he shakes his head.

“Do I want to know?” he asks, shrugging off his shoulder bag and his coat.

“I fucked up with a girl, the usual,” says Wolfgang.

“Did you get Dani pregnant too?” jokes Will.

“Yeah,” replies Wolfgang.

Will’s eyes widen in alarm and he starts to speak.

“He’s joking,” sighs Riley.

Will walks over to kiss Riley hello, and then he surveys Wolfgang, his eyes landing on the glass with an inch of vodka left. He nods slowly.

“You thought it was okay to come over and get drunk when we have a newborn to take care of? Why didn’t you talk to Felix?”

“Felix is useless,” slurs Wolfgang. He breathes in sharply and sits up straighter. “I have to go break up with Dani.” He shifts Ella to Riley and tries to stand, swaying, and blinks at Will, who is facing him with a frown. “What?”

Will pushes him back into his seat. “You’re loaded, man, c’mon, you’re sleeping here.”

Wolfgang scowls at him. “You can’t tell me what to do…”

“I’m your boss and basically your dad,” retorts Will. “Yes I can.”

“Well, I don’t have to listen,” replies Wolfgang, folding his arms obstinately.

Will shakes his head. “You’re incredible. You’re stupid drunk in front of your five-year-old, father of the year material. Really, man, go to sleep.”

“Fine,” mumbles Wolfgang.

“We have four kids, babe, not two,” Will murmurs to Riley as he helps her up.

Riley laughs. Wolfgang kicks off his shoes and lies on the couch, and Ella shakes her head when Riley coaxes her away from the couch; she climbs on it instead and curls up next to Wolfgang, who smiles slightly. He stares at the ceiling while he waits for Riley to come back, Kala swirling in his mind like a reflection on wavy water.

Riley returns a moment later with a pillow, a blanket, some aspirin, and a glass of water. She sits by his feet and pats his calf.

“It’ll be okay, Wolfgang, I promise,” she says softly.

He props himself up to drink the water and take the aspirin. He shakes his head slightly, vision fading, and slumps back down on the pillow she brought. He closes his eyes, almost asleep, and lets out a slow, exhausted breath.

“I’m in love with her,” he mumbles.

“What?” whispers Riley in alarm.

But he’s asleep and doesn’t answer.

***

Kala smiles thankfully at Hernando as she shakes her umbrella outside of his door. After a day of agonizing about the previous night, she finally humbled herself and asked to come over for dinner. She was relieved to hear that only Hernando was home, because while she adores Lito usually, his exuberance isn’t what she needs tonight. Hernando’s tendency to drown her troubles with theories and poems will soothe her much more effectively.

She rolls her eyes as she struggles to stash the umbrella in the can by the door, then sinks into a needy hug and squeezes Hernando’s arms.

“It smells good,” she says warmly.

“Cacio e pepe,” he tells her, lowering his voice, “because Lito isn’t here. We have to eat all of it so there are no leftovers.”

She grins. “I think I can handle that…”

She shuts the door, relaxing in the warmth, and takes her jacket off. Hernando nudges his glasses up his nose and feels the jacket in his fingers after she hangs it.

“Is this new? I didn’t think you liked leather…”

Kala blushes. “Um. I don’t, really, but it was on sale and…” _And I can pretend I’m wearing Wolfgang’s._ She breathes out, her lips twitch, and her eyes fill up. “Do you have any wine?”

Hernando frowns sympathetically and rubs her arm. “Okay, Kala, yes...of course. I’m sorry.”

She forces herself to smile and follows him past the fire in the den to the kitchen, where a pan of pasta is steaming and two glasses of deep red wine are already set out. She glances at the red and green strings of light around the windows and doorways, Lito’s work, and gently thumbs over one of the bulbs.

Hernando puts a glass of wine in her hand and she sits at the table, waiting for him to plate the pasta. She looks down at the city, the light pooling in raindrops on the windowpane, and takes a large, slow drink from her glass.

“So,” says Hernando as he sits down with the plates. “What is it?”

Kala’s chin trembles and she keeps her gaze stubbornly fixed on the city. She shakes her head, then touches the back of her hand to her nose and laughs at herself.

“It’s Wolfgang,” she says quietly.

Hernando’s brow creases deeply. “Dani’s guy?”

Kala nods, reluctantly meeting his eyes. “You’re going to think I’m very stupid.”

He shakes his head immediately and begins to swirl pasta on his fork. “You are never stupid. Though I am…” His frown intensifies. “...confused.”

Kala laughs and coughs slightly on her wine. She takes a bite of pasta, smiling despite her grief.

“Oh, I’m confused too,” she replies, sniffling. “I’ve never been so confused.”

She planned to talk pleasantly about work and books before delving into what she actually came here for, but simply seeing her friend overwhelmed her. She eats for a moment, eyes finding the city through the window again, and finally she breathes in.

“I encouraged Dani to be with him,” she says very softly. “And truly I didn’t mind, not at first...because how could I mind? But when I saw them together at the party last month, I...I couldn’t explain why, I still can’t, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them together and...well, I’ve been...terribly jealous.”

Hernando watches her for a moment and she returns her gaze to the rain. She runs a hand through her hair, pressing her lips together to fight tears, and gives a tiny shake of her head.

“And I -- I saw him last night, because I went to his apartment to give him a scarf that I accidentally kept,” she whispers, studying the insect-sized cars below, gleaming like gems. “I went to his apartment and he did the strangest thing.”

Hernando squints. “What did he do?”

She turns her gaze on him and leans back in her chair. She slips her flats off and soothes the back of her calf with her toes, frowning deeply. “He invited me in for a drink.”

Hernando pops his eyebrows. “Well, he asked you out before…”

“But he was about to leave,” explains Kala. “And he invited me in anyway, and…” She rubs her eyes briefly and takes a sip of wine. “We talked, and he...he told me I shouldn’t have gotten so close to Ella and..and I started to cry and I…” She shakes her head at herself. “I hugged him and I, well I --” She takes a breath and forces the next words out. “I wanted to sleep with him.”

Hernando’s lips tilt down and he leans forward. “You hugged him after he said that to you?”

“Yes, I understand that was not _entirely_ logical,” she replies. “Hernando, did you hear me? I wanted to sleep with him, I -- I want to sleep with him. I…” She lets out her breath. “I want to _be_ with him.”

Hernando hums in thought and looks outside. “I…” He puffs his lips out in surprise and drinks his wine, glasses glinting in the city light. “Hm.”

“I don’t even know what it should feel like to want that,” Kala whispers. “I’ve never wanted that…maybe I...maybe I don’t know what I’m feeling.” She turns her cautious eyes on him, hesitating, and drinks her wine to use a moment up. She is unsure if she should make the comparison she is about to make, but she trusts him to gently correct her if not. “Hernando? When you realized you like men, how -- how did it start?”

Hernando smiles distantly and glances at her before looking down. “I spent a lot of time writing when I was a teenager, and whenever I would write something...I would write it to a man, or about a man. And of course I told myself that it was alright because it was ah...an exercise. It wasn’t my feelings, but a character’s feelings...and then it was research...I would go to gay bars to understand a character, I would look at men to understand women…”

“Did you feel like you were lying to yourself?” asks Kala, fearful.

He shakes his head with another slow smile. “No. I’ll tell you something a teacher told me. Everything we have ever created, and everything we will create, exists below the surface for a very long time, and most of the time we don’t even know. I know you don’t write, but it’s incredible...sometimes I will sit down, and everything comes to me fully-formed, and all I have to do is put my pen to paper. Well, I think discovering ourselves is the same.”

“So I’ve always been capable of this?” breathes Kala. “Why did it take so much time? Is -- is this all because of him or is...is it me?”

Hernando tops up their glasses of wine and says gently, “I think it is...because of you. New people can awaken undiscovered parts of ourselves, of course, but those parts surely had to exist under the surface. And love, well...love is as much about the person in love as the person they are in love with...if you love him, it isn’t because he fixed you...it’s because you were never ready before this.”

Kala nods, sniffles, and quickly wipes her eyes. “I -- I’m not used to this. I feel like I’ve been waiting to meet him my entire life. But I...I don’t think he likes me, and I...well, it would be quite stupid to sleep with him just to feel closer and then realize...that he doesn’t want anything more than that.” She looks at her lap and shakes her head, messy and lonely, and continues, “I don’t love him, Hernando, I -- I don’t know if I love him…how can I love him? We haven’t spent more than a few hours together.”

“You’ve spent more than few hours with him in your mind, though, haven’t you?”

Kala lets herself cry and she covers her face. “Yes. I - I can’t get rid of him.”

“Who?” asks a new, worried voice.

Kala looks at Dani in the kitchen doorway and jostles her wine in horrified surprise. Dani frowns, looking to Hernando for guidance, and sets her purse down on the counter. She comes into the kitchen and sits next to Kala, leaning forward intently and thumbing the tears off her cheek. Kala trembles, aware she may have just come from seeing Wolfgang, and tries not to shy away. She knows she isn’t controlling her breath, and she’s sure that her cheeks are dark with blood and her eyes lit with panic. She didn’t anticipate Dani finding out about this, especially not in this way, and she feels adrift.

“Hey, what’s going on?” asks Dani seriously, looking again at Hernando.

“It’s nothing,” whispers Kala.

“Is it Rajan?” wonders Dani, her eyes darkening protectively.

“I -- how much did you hear?” asks Kala.

Dani shakes her head. “Just the last thing.” She brings her brow together. “Kala, hey, you look awful and you’ve been off all month, what--”

“I shouldn’t have told you to be with Wolfgang,” Kala gasps out.

Dani stiffens visibly, and then she breathes out all at once. “Oh my God. Oh, Kala.” She closes her eyes and quickly kisses Kala’s brow. “I’m going to fix this. He -- he likes you, okay? Take my word for it. He can’t freaking focus when we have sex and that’s...about you. I love you, I love you, just -- I’ll fix this. I’m sorry.”

She hurries to throw her purse over her shoulder and disappears from the apartment with a clatter as the door swings shut. Kala looks in listless astonishment at Hernando, whose mouth is slightly open.

“What...what is she going to do?” murmurs Kala.

Hernando fixes his glasses and takes a long drink of wine. “I think she’s going to break up with him.”

***

_The Next Day_

Wolfgang glances in the rear-view mirror at Ella, drowsing in between two bags of groceries. He taps his finger absently on the steering wheel and waits for the light to turn, on edge. He woke up to several texts from Dani this morning, the last of which read: _We can’t do this anymore._ He texted back _OK_ and made a cup of coffee, unperturbed. She didn’t give a reason and he didn’t care. He thought instantly of Kala and promised himself he’d see her tonight.

Now he reflects on his decision to drive to Kala’s apartment. He hopes she sees this as mere reciprocation, since she showed up at his place, but he’s aware that an unexpected visit might startle her, make her question his motives. It helps, he’s sure, that he’s brought Ella with him.

He glances again at Ella. She meets his eyes and frowns.

“I’m tired,” she complains.

“I know,” he says. “One more stop.” He hesitates, then continues. “Want to see Miss Kala?”

She brightens and sits forward against her seatbelt, gasping. He gives a short, quiet laugh and perks his brows at her.

“You could pretend to like me more,” he jokes.

Ella grins, uncomprehending, and he continues to laugh as he turns left, into a familiar neighborhood, characterized by clean, light buildings and short iron fences. He glances at the address he scrawled out on the back of his notebook and slows as he approaches it. When he parks, Ella throws her door open and he hurries to prevent her from running into the street. He catches her just as she’s jumping out of the door and gives her a stern look before rolling his eyes. He takes her hand and nudges her towards the apartment; she rushes towards it, slips on the ice, and he tugs her up to keep her from falling.

“Ella!” he murmurs.

“Sorry,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

They enter the apartment building and climb the stairs. Ella breaks free to run ahead of him and he finds her at the top of the stairs, unsure which way to turn, so he points. She continues to run, passes Kala’s apartment, and stops at the end of the hall. Wolfgang glances at her, amused, paused in front of 206.

“Ella,” he says.

She spins and stares at him. Her expression transforms in understanding and she rushes back to him, rolling on the balls of her feet as she waits for him to knock. He takes a moment to look at her, one eyebrow raised, smile twitching as he tries not to laugh. Then he gives a slight shake of his head and knocks. He listens intently to the sound on the other side of the door and holds his breath as the door opens a few inches, caught by a chain lock.

Kala looks out at him with one bright eye, one contorted brow. He hears her intake of breath and she rapidly unhooks the lock to open the door fully.

“Hi!” she breathes, hugging herself.

She’s wearing an indigo silk robe and pajamas; her hair is half-up, curls falling in dark wisps around her features. Her eyes are lit with surprise and, he likes to think, hope. He finds his words beyond reach at the sight of her like this; he realizes this is the first time he’s seen her when she hasn’t had the chance to prepare and rehearse, and he feels instantly closer to her.

He breathes in, about to apologize, but Ella steps inside and looks up at Kala with gleeful anticipation. Kala grins helplessly, briefly smiles at Wolfgang, and kneels to be closer to Ella.

“Hi!” she whispers.

Ella beams. “Hi!”

Kala giggles and quickly squeezes Ella’s waist. Wolfgang looks down to hide his smile and takes a calming breath before meeting Kala’s eyes. Again, he finds himself at a loss. It’s too easy to pretend that he’s coming home to find her already in pajamas, sleepy but warm, waiting up just for a kiss.

She adjusts her robe, anticipating, and shifts on her feet. He exhales and meets her eyes.

“I’m sorry for last night,” he admits quietly.

She stiffens. “What?”

“I let you in,” he replies, echoing her retort. “I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

Kala watches him cautiously for a moment before nodding. She glances down, smile pained, and he sees her nails dig into her arms as she hugs herself tighter.

“Thank you,” she manages.

“Kala,” he says insistently, touching her arm on instinct. “I’m sorry.”

She looks up with glossy, stunned eyes and nods rapidly, mouth and chin trembling like she’s trying not to cry. He suspects she feels alone and misunderstood and he wants to fix that, but he’s sure he doesn’t know how to.

He realizes he’s touching her and withdraws his hand. She laughs at herself and puts a hand through her hair.

“I don’t know what to say,” she says quietly, touching her fingertips under her eyes. “This month has been…” She nods, jaw clenched, then sniffles through another embarrassed laugh. “It’s been a bit too much. Thank you for...for saying that.” Then she covers her face. “God, it’s like I cry whenever I see you…”

“It’s okay,” he says, tone gentle, pain blooming in his chest; he’s never felt like this for someone else.

“I’m sorry too...” She huffs and lets her hands down. “I feel so stupid.” She toggles her bottom lip in her teeth, gaze averted, then adds with a shy smile, “Do you want to come in? That only feels fair…”

He watches her carefully before being overtaken by a quick smile. He nods.

She smiles hugely in relief and steps aside, letting Ella walk through, then him. He studies her apartment, a simple studio, slightly messier than his own; she has a vast collection of blankets, candles, and rugs. Her laptop is open on her coffee table, playing quiet rock that he recognizes as Mazzy Star, and a book is face down nearby, dog-eared next to a glass of red wine. He glances quickly at the title and sees it’s in Hindi; this sends a strange, affectionate thrill through him.

“Beer?” she asks him, hovering near her kitchen.

The apartment smells like bright, sharp spices and vanilla incense. He continues to study, noticing her bare feet, toes painted red, and the shimmer of her calf, as if she recently applied lotion. He swallows, shaken anew by how much he wants her; he realizes, now more clearly than before, that she occupies his mind like hunger and thirst, an irrepressible need. For the first time, a flutter of fear moves through him; for the first time, he’s unsure that he will be able to forget her.

He nods in answer to this and she smiles, about to reach into the fridge. Ella approaches her, chin uptilted, asking. Wolfgang is about to explain she wants a snack, but Kala senses this. She leans closer, playful, and Ella laughs.

“Hungry?” she asks.

Ella nods hard. Wolfgang smiles and glances down.

“We didn’t eat yet,” he explains quietly.

Kala looks up at this, concerned. “Oh -- I...I should let you go, then--”

He shrugs. “I can stay a few minutes.”

She straightens by the fridge, thoughtful, and searches his expression; she seems reluctant, yet hopeful, and when she opens her mouth she doesn’t immediately speak. She breathes in and tucks her hair away.

“I could make something,” she says, tense.

Wolfgang stares at her, his impassive expression masking confusion. He doesn’t understand Kala’s warmth towards him, especially after the other night. He considers the possibilities in a flash as he looks at her -- does she like how neatly she fits in their lives, almost a mama? Is she simply and stubbornly attached to Ella? Is she, somehow, attracted to him? Did she lie, or just misunderstand herself?

“No,” he hears himself say, adding quickly to soften the response, “that’s too much work.”

“I don’t mind,” she says breathily.

He knows he can’t refuse because he’ll regret missing this opportunity, even if they are both playing a delusive role.

“I’ll help you,” he says before thinking.

He searches for the vocabulary he typically uses with women he wants to sleep with and finds it out of reach. Riley’s words filter through his inflexible mind. You would be good for her. He breathes out slowly, annoyed with himself for feeding this false hope -- Kala isn’t interested in him, only in what being with him could provide for her, and he tells himself he is in the same place. He doesn’t like her, only what she can give him, and that fades.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” says Kala.

“I’m going to,” he retorts with a slight smirk, stepping past her in the entrance to the kitchen and shifting her gently aside with a touch.

She eyes him from the side. “You know how to?”

He raises his eyebrows and she bites her bottom lip, suddenly relaxed, almost laughing. She shakes her head and her hair tosses, and he looks away to hide the way his smile faltered, too stunned by her to do anything but stare. She softens and takes a beer from the fridge to hand to him; he notes that it’s Becks but doesn’t comment that this is what he typically buys.

“I have an idea,” murmurs Kala, looking into her fridge and taking out a container with a brick of white cheese. She gestures with it. “Do you...like Indian food?”

He nods, leaning on the counter. “Love it.”

Kala glances unsurely at Ella, who is hovering near the island, watching both of them with a confused but elated gaze.

“She’s not picky,” he assures her before she can ask.

“Except for Wilbur…” says Kala wryly.

He laughs helplessly. “Yeah, except that.”

“Does she like to help?” wonders Kala.

He smiles slightly and looks at his daughter, raising his brows before asking, “Want to help, mausi?”

Ella nods so hard her hair bounces and Kala grins, reaching for a stool in between the cabinets. Wolfgang glances at this, frowning.

“Why do you have that?” he asks.

She gestures at herself. “I can’t reach the top shelf.”

He nods for a moment, a smirk building, and finally he chuckles. She scoffs and unfolds the stool.

“I am significantly taller than most women in my country,” she informs him.

“Well, congratulations,” he says.

She eyes him again, about to retort, and then her eyes lock on his unopened bottle of beer. She breathes in hard, hurrying to take an opener from a nearby drawer, and passes it to him. He smiles at how flustered she is as he uncaps the beer, then meets her eyes as he takes a drink. She flushes and busies herself with pouring a beer for herself.

“What are we cooking?” he asks her.

“Achari paneer,” she says mildly, taking an onion from a bowl on the counter. “Could you dice this?”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“An onion,” she replies.

He looks at her coolly, tempted to tease her. She glances away in realization and covers her face, seeming to sink smaller.

“Oh God, oh,” she whispers to herself. “Yes, of course...achari paneer is cheese with achari masala, which is a blend of spices.”

He cracks up and sips his beer, then begins on the onion.

“You make me nervous,” she defends after a moment, taking a few spice bottles from the cabinet.

“Why?” he asks as casually as he can.

“Because you tell the truth,” she murmurs.

“I thought that was a good thing,” he says with a touch of sarcasm.

“I mean that you’re honest when it’s rude to be,” she replies, glancing quickly at him, then away.

He nods slowly and drinks his beer. He’s about to reply, but she speaks again, and he slows his knife at her words.

“It is a good thing,” she says. “I want to get used to it.”

“No one ever does,” he promises her.

Then he stops, her words truly reaching him. I want to get used to it. This implies she expects, or hopes, to spend more time with him. He sets his confusion aside for the time being and twitches his fingers at Ella, who has been waiting. She trots up to them and Kala coaxes her onto the stool, then gives her a ring of measuring spoons. Wolfgang watches this and tells himself to ignore how at ease Ella is, to erase Kala’s smile from his mind now so memories of it don’t plague him.

He lets himself watch them for a moment. Kala points out nearly ten spices and explains what they are to Ella, whose eyes are brighter than he’s seen in days.

“These,” says Kala softly, “are onion seeds. So, if you put them in the ground and you add water, they actually…” She grabs an onion from the bowl. “Become these…”

Wolfgang keeps his eyes on his hands as he dices the onion, but listens intently to Ella and Kala, who he suspects has underestimated how many questions Ella will have about such a complex process. As expected, Ella begins to ply her with queries about how plants grow, and Kala answers them cheerfully.

Wolfgang sinks under the weight of this exchange. He wants to hold Kala from behind, kiss the shell of her ear, and mumble something that makes her shiver and grow anxious to be alone with him. He remembers how he felt when he first saw her, and he knows this isn’t the same; he’s attracted to her, but he would be content if they spent the night talking on the couch, touching their noses together as they laughed at each other’s stories.

His fingers tighten against his palm and he resists the urge to draw her close as she talks with his daughter. He knows if Kala was any other woman, he never would have let her get this close to Ella, or to him. She’s different, and he wants only her, though he knows she may not be capable of reciprocating.

He drinks his beer, pausing on the onion. He wants to express that Ella loves her, that he was wrong to put up a wall, but he doesn’t know how. He breathes out, angry at himself; he may not understand Kala, he may have misinterpreted what she wants, but he knows he shouldn’t deprive himself, or his daughter, of the possibility that she wants to be with them.

“This okay?” he asks about the onion.

She follows his gaze and lifts her brows in surprise. “Oh, you do know what you’re doing…” She glances at Ella. “Does your papa cook a lot?”

“No,” says Ella brightly.

Wolfgang snorts. “I cook for you every day, dummkopf…”

“That’s not a lot,” argues Ella.

Kala meets his eyes, smiling in amusement, and he shakes his head. Kala reaches next to him for a pan and pours some light yellow oil into it, then sets the stove. She reaches for the onions, her hip unintentionally brushing his, and his pulse picks up just at this.

“If she doesn’t like this,” murmurs Kala, “I have peanut butter and jelly…”

He smiles faintly. “My mom loved that, always had an American friend send it to her.”

“Oh, it didn’t used to be available?” wonders Kala, offering him a spoon to stir the onions.

He shakes his head and accepts the spoon, then puts an arm unconsciously around Ella and kisses the top of her head. She leans into him and yawns and he catches Kala smiling.

“That reminds me,” says Kala gently, adding a palm of spices to the pan. “When my mother was pregnant with me, all she wanted were these...little chocolate wafer candies, I can’t remember the name, but she couldn’t find them anywhere in Mumbai, and my father was out of the country at the time for business, and she told him to pick some of the candies up for her. So…” She pauses to laugh and he drinks in the sound. “...of course he emptied one of his suitcases and gave his things away and brought back dozens of boxes.”

He softens and laughs. “What?”

She grins and nods. “He’s sweet. I would cry if someone did that for me, but my mother laughed for hours and scolded him for giving his things away…” She trails off, smiling distantly, and sips her beer. “I haven’t seen them in a long time. They keep meaning to come to Berlin but they’re always so busy, so only my sister has been here...they wish I hadn’t moved, of course, but at least they understand why. And they’ve always been more concerned about Daya than about me because she can be somewhat...scandalous.”

He nods, smirking. “Of course you’re the good one.”

She scoffs. “I can be scandalous.”

“Uh huh,” he murmurs. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

She starts to laugh, blushing, and says after a sip of her drink, “When I was sixteen...there was a boy at school who wouldn’t stop bothering me...so at lunch one afternoon I slipped chili oil into his soda and he had to go to the hospital because he couldn’t breathe…”

Wolfgang stares at her. “So you almost killed someone.”

  
“Not intentionally!” whispers Kala. “It would have been manslaughter, not murder…”

He cracks up. “Right, much better--”

“It is better! And this boy deserved it, he kept lifting my sari up…” She huffs and reaches into the fridge again, balancing a few containers and shifting them to the counter. “What’s the worst thing you have ever done?”

He tilts his head back slightly, considering, and then glances at Ella. He smirks, about to joke.

“Don’t say that the worst thing you’ve ever done is get a girl pregnant,” interjects Kala softly. “I think that’s the best thing you’ve ever done.”

He looks at her in annoyance. “How did you know I was going to say that?”

Kala shrugs superiorly and smiles and he laughs, softening. He pinches Ella’s nose and nods warmly at Kala. Her eyes brighten and she holds his gaze longer than he expected her to, and then she offers him another beer and checks the pan. He watches her run her hand through her hair to move it from her eyes and he breathes in deeply, savoring the time with her; he knows he should share more, but he doesn’t have experience to guide him.

He’s quiet for a moment, absorbing the aroma of the spices, listening to the slow, entrancing album; he watches Ella as she studies Kala, as she yawns. He touches Kala’s arm lightly to indicate that he’ll be back, then picks up Ella and settles her on the couch; he kisses her forehead and glances in surprise as Kala approaches him.

She smiles, shy, and picks up the remote. “I can put a movie on for her…”

He nods and Kala sits next to Ella. She looks up at him after flicking the TV on. “Could you stir that, please?”

He nods again, returning to the kitchen; he stirs the sauce, sips his beer, and watches as Kala gives movie suggestions to Ella. He notices how relaxed he feels and reminds himself that he should be tense, but it’s impossible to be. Her apartment is warm, bright, and her voice soothes him like nothing else. He can worry later what tonight means for them, whether her intentions have changed.

Kala catches him looking and instead of hiding his gaze, he smiles. She smiles too, then looks away, flushed. His smile slants into a small smirk and he returns his attention to the pan. Kala joins him after a moment and he glances at her.

“What did she pick?” he asks.

“Ella Enchanted because she saw her name in the title,” replies Kala with a laugh.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Egomaniac.”

Kala laughs loudly and shifts some peppers towards him for him to chop. “No, it was innocent.”

“Papa, this movie is about me!” Ella yells from the living room, bouncing her feet hard on the couch.

“Yes it is, mausi,” he calls back, adding smugly to Kala, “Told you.”

She rolls her eyes and takes some peas out of the freezer, then takes the spoon from him. He steps aside to give her room, and after a moment she smiles hard and looks at him; she hums, hesitating, and then breaks into a helpless grin.

“What?” he murmurs.

“You’re lucky,” says Kala, eyes flashing towards Ella.

He nods. “I didn’t always feel that way but I know that now.”

“Was it hard when you found out your girlfriend was pregnant?” asks Kala cautiously.

“Yeah,” he admits, watching her hands as she chops some bright green herbs. “Harder on her, she was eighteen and she didn’t want a kid at all.”

“You did?” asks Kala, tone surprised.

He shrugs and slices one of the peppers she gave him. “Eventually.”

Kala nods slowly, taking a moment before murmuring, “I can’t imagine finding out you’re having a child and feeling disappointed. I can imagine feeling...scared...but not disappointed. I understand, of course, she was so young, but…” She sighs and shakes her head. “It’s strange to me how hard it was to find out I couldn’t have children when I didn’t even know I wanted them.” She tilts her head and adds the herbs to the pan; he holds still, anxious for her to continue, and he notices a bitter twitch on her lips. “I suppose now I know I just didn’t want his children.”

He breathes out. “Because you weren’t in love with him?”

She nods and stirs the sauce. “I thought after being with him I would...feel something, but I didn’t, and after I moved away I think...I clung to the idea that I couldn’t love anyone, because if I could, naturally I would have loved him.” Her eyes darken slightly. “Everyone told me how much I should have loved him, how all the women at his company loved him…so if I didn’t, well, then the problem must have been mine.” She breathes in sharply and looks at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about this--”

He shakes his head to show he doesn’t mind; under his cool demeanor, he’s restless for her to explain herself. She smiles in apology and tousles her hair.

“Oh, I...I don’t know, I’m worried I lied to myself,” she goes on. “I’ve never even tried to be in a relationship and it’s difficult because I never...I never feel anything at the start.”

She meets his eyes and he can tell she won’t say more, but her expression communicates what her words left out. His fingers tighten around his beer and his breath stops. He knows it’s futile to fight against hope now.

“I’ve never tried to be in a relationship either,” he tells her quietly. “And I don’t have good reasons like you.”

“What reasons do you have?” she asks, cubing some paneer.

“I fuck everything up,” he says with a shrug, drinking his beer.

She turns her gaze on him but doesn’t question this. He glances down with a small, sad twitch of his lips and she briefly touches his chest.

“Here,” she says to distract him. “Taste this.”

She gathers a spoon of the sauce and cheese and offers it to him. He hesitates, then smiles, and lets her feed him the bite. He raises his brows at the taste and gives a quiet, approving groan. Blood floods her cheeks and she laughs, thrilled.

“Fuck, where did you learn to cook like that…” he mumbles, stealing the spoon from her to eat more.

“Don’t you dare,” she says, grabbing the spoon back and taking down three dishes. “I learned from my father, he’s a chef.”

He nods, then dips his pinkie into the sauce. She gasps and shoves him and he laughs apologetically, letting him push her back; she laughs too, nose wrinkling, and he finds his hands are on her waist. She stops laughing abruptly, eyes shining as she stares into his, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Um, we -- we should eat,” she says after an endless pause.

He lets his breath go and nods. She dishes up three servings and blushes when she finally looks back to him. He wants to crush her against the counter and kiss her until she’s weak, and for the first time, he’s not sure she would be opposed.

“Couch?” she asks.

He nods without hearing her. She smiles slightly and walks to the couch, so he follows, and they find that Ella is curled on her side, blinking slowly as she fades towards sleep. They look at each other, both soft, and Ella glances up at Kala. She sits up blearily and reaches her hands up. At home at this hour, Wolfgang would pick her up and carry her to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and she must be expecting the same here.

Wolfgang’s restraint suddenly fades; he shrugs approvingly at Kala, who hesitates for half a breath before lifting Ella and settling her on her hip. Wolfgang steps forward to squeeze Ella’s side, and finds his lips too close to Kala’s; he studies her eyes, darkest golden-brown, lashes long enough that he’s sure he would feel them on his cheek if he kissed her.

Ella nuzzles into Kala and begins to play with her messy hair, yawning. Kala fails to suppress a smile, gently bouncing her. Wolfgang watches. Too many times, he’s shied from affection; he’s told himself love is a dangerous distraction, but he realizes tonight that he never defined what exactly it would distract him from.

He looks at Kala as Ella huffs, tired, and rests her head on her chest. Kala’s mouth trembles happily and she touches her nose to Ella’s temple.

“Why did you want me to pick you up, hm? We’re going to eat dinner…”

“She thinks it’s bedtime,” explains Wolfgang, stroking Ella’s hair.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I kept you late,” whispers Kala.

He shakes his head, dismissing her worry, and she smiles feebly and nods. She shuts the movie off and sits next to Wolfgang, who feeds a small bite of the paneer to Ella. Kala watches intently as Ella chews, noisy, and she laughs when Ella nods in approval.

“Good,” she whispers, taking a bite of her own.

“Don’t be flattered, she eats everything,” jokes Wolfgang. “Leaves, dirt, coins…”

Kala looks at him sideways, trying not to smile, and he glances down, unable to keep in a laugh. Kala rolls her eyes affectionately and he resists the urge to wrap an arm around her and kiss the side of her head. They eat for a moment in silence and he listens to the wind outside, to a distant honk and shout of the city. The music ambles on, the chords low and smoky, and he hears Kala breathe in slowly beside him.

“I like this album,” he mentions.

“You do?” she asks in surprise.

He nods. “Yeah, I used to play Blue Light a lot…”

Kala’s eyes glow and she nods. “I love it too...I only ever listened to Bollywood music, with my sister when we were little, but when I came here, Hernando made me listen to so many albums…” She grins at the memory and adds, “Why did you learn guitar?”

“I found one in our attic when I was a kid,” he replies. “I’d play to…” He shrugs; she opened up to him, and he feels he owes her the same. “To ignore my parents when they fought.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” murmurs Kala.

He shakes his head. “It was a long time ago.” He pauses, searching for the right words to describe his feelings; he takes a bite of food and a sip of beer, then fixes his gaze on her overburdened bookshelf. “My life didn’t feel like my own until Ella was born. I don’t know if that makes sense--”

“My life didn’t feel like my own until I moved here,” Kala assures him quietly. “I think we spend most of our lives waiting for things to be over so what we actually want can begin, but so often we don’t know what it is we actually want and...life is so short to begin with. It shouldn’t be so confusing, too...”

He smiles distantly and shakes his head. “No. Though sometimes it’s simple, we know what we want and what we should do, and…”

“And we do the opposite,” she murmurs. “I know.”

They finish dinner in comfortable silence, broken only by Ella’s occasional question. Wolfgang envisions putting Ella in bed and returning to the couch to lift Kala in his arms, her legs latched around his waist as she laughs wildly at the gesture; he pictures carrying her to bed, laying her down, and peppering kisses along her mouth until she makes him kiss her properly; he would laugh through the kiss and eventually turn on his side, hugging her as he closed his eyes. He would be content with that alone.

When he’s done, Kala takes his plate with a shy smile and stacks it on Ella’s, then goes into the kitchen and runs water in the sink. He doesn’t want to leave, but he takes this as his cue, and nudges his sleepy daughter. He helps her into her coat and turns to see Kala next to him at the door.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says quietly.

She nods, fidgeting with her hands. “You’re welcome, um…” She trails off, nervous, and then inhales hard. “Oh! I -- I have a gift for Ella’s birthday, if...if that’s okay.”

He nods in response and she gives a flustered smile, then hurries to open a closet near the door. She takes out a rectangular package wrapped with festive penguin paper.

“PIN-GWINS!” shouts Ella as she takes the package.

Wolfgang snorts and Kala’s eyes crinkle in delight.

“Yes, happy birthday, sweetheart,” she says, leaning to cup Ella’s face and kiss her head.

Ella grins and rolls excitedly on her feet. Wolfgang glances at her with a short smile and opens the door, nudging her through it. He nods at Kala as a goodbye, unsure what else to do, and turns to leave.

But just as he’s about to shut the door, Kala speaks, her voice keen and anxious.

“Wolfgang!”

He turns back to her and finds her much closer than he expected; his eyes widen slightly as she looks at him, and she hesitates for a second before standing on her toes and gingerly kissing the corner of his mouth. He breathes in, motionless, and stares at her as she steps back.

She nods and gives a twitchy smile. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” he says without hearing himself.

He joins Ella in the hall and the door clicks behind him. He stays still, looking blankly at the wall opposite him, and lets out all his breath. He doesn’t move until Ella urges him away from the door by tugging his hand, and by the time slides into the driver’s seat, he’s shaken. He replays the kiss in his mind, his hands finding the ignition and the wheel without thought, and he starts to drive home by rote. He breaks from his pattern only when Ella softly calls “Papa?” and he meets her eyes in the mirror.

“Hm?” he replies.

“Papa, are you and Miss Kala going to get married?” she asks pertly.

He laughs on instinct as he turns down their street. “No, mausi…” But then his expression fades to a smile and he confides, “I like her.”

“I know,” says Ella, weary.

“Do you think I should have kissed her?” he adds jokingly.

“Yeah!” says Ella in the same tone. “You’re stupid.”

Usually, he would eye her for this language, but tonight he nods. “I know.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella perfects the art of interrupting.

Wolfgang glances at a recipe book, leaning on the counter at the fire station. Already, the pages are splattered with batter and coffee, and he’s confident he made several mistakes.

“Is it supposed to be this hard to stir?” he mumbles to Felix, who is sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a sweater with bejeweled reindeer, and reading something from his phone.

After seeing the price of even a small cake at the bakery down the street, he decided to make one instead, but he overestimated his skills. Felix offered to help, since his mother was a baker, but it became quickly apparent that Felix learned nothing from her as a child.

“C’mon, Conan, it can’t be that bad,” he replies without looking up from his phone. “Put your back into it...”

“I’m going to break the spoon...” says Wolfgang, scrutinizing the batter.

“Well, then you did something wrong,” remarks Felix, adding, “Fucking Ronaldo, who cares...can they report on someone else for fucking once...”

“World Cup’s over, we weren’t even in it, get off your ass,” says Wolfgang, going over the recipe again. He breathes out, catching that it called for one litre of milk. “Oh.”

“Did you read it wrong again? Do you need glasses?” mumbles Felix. “Have you needed them your whole life but you thought they’d detract from your stupid perfect nose?”

Wolfgang’s eyes flash in annoyance and he looks out the window at the blue, blustery December afternoon. He studies the bare trees, the gleam of pooling water on the street below, and inhales at the memory of standing in this kitchen six years ago, December 22. The street looks identical, but he remembers that day was much colder, and a storm was moving through.

He glances down with a faint smile and goes back to the recipe, reading it over while he takes a drink of coffee. The wind picks up outside, rattling the chimes that Riley hung on one of the eves years ago, whistling through the cracked-open window. He nudges it shut and then glances down when he feels Ella hug his legs.

“You aren’t allowed in here,” he reminds her. “It’s a surprise.”

She nods apologetically but doesn’t leave. He chuckles and pushes her gently towards Felix, who hops to his feet and scoops her up. She giggles and Wolfgang watches them with a slight smile for a moment.

“Hey, let’s go bother Uncle Will,” Felix suggests.

“No, let’s not,” says Will from his office.

Wolfgang snorts and returns to the cake. Felix returns after a moment, peering over his shoulder as he stirs. He eyes him from the side, brows raised.

“Looks good,” observes Felix.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” replies Wolfgang. “Where’s Ella?”

“Set her up by the tree with a puzzle,” says Felix, reaching to dip his finger in the batter.

Wolfgang catches his wrist and glares at him.

“You’re no fun,” Felix tells him, stepping away and refreshing his coffee. He leans on the counter, yawns, and crosses his arms. “So, you invite Dani?”

“No,” says Wolfgang shortly, scouring the cabinets for vanilla. He reaches deep behind some cups and closes his hand around the tiny brown bottle, then shifts his mug in Felix’s direction so he pours more coffee. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

Felix frowns and replaces the coffee pot. “What? Why?”

“She ended it,” he replies, unwilling to go into his theory that she spoke to Kala, and Kala finally told the truth. It’s difficult to make sense of any other scenario given how affectionate she was when they made dinner together. “And I don’t care.”

Felix squints at him; he keeps his expression neutral and measures the vanilla in the cap of the bottle, too impatient to search for a spoon.

“Right, Wolfie-speak for _I care_ ,” mumbles Felix.

Wolfgang laughs at this. “What do I have to do to make you believe me? I don’t like her.”

“Uh, the sex sounded pretty...irreplaceable,” Felix says slowly.

Wolfgang shrugs, returning to the brush of Kala’s lips on the corner of his mouth; he has a new definition of irreplaceable. “It’s just sex.”

Felix gapes at him, sets his coffee down, then strides to Will’s office. He knocks on the doorframe and says, “Hey, mind telling me what the fuck is going on with Wolfie?”

Wolfgang rolls his eyes and leans against the counter, waiting for Will’s response. He hears a groan, the squeak of an office chair, and watches Will appear from his office and shake his head. He crosses the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Riley invited her to the Christmas party since you didn’t,” Will tells Wolfgang, smirking. He pats Wolfgang’s arm bracingly, squeezes it, and walks away. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Invited who?” demands Felix. “Will, c’mon!”

“Kala,” says Will simply as he disappears into his office once more.

“Wait,” says Felix slowly. “Did you sleep with her? Is that why Dani ended it?”

“No,” replies Wolfgang, stirring the batter again. “I--”

A deafening crash in the next room interrupts them. Wolfgang runs to see if Ella is okay, and finds the Christmas tree overturned, several ornaments smashed, crushing the packages underneath it. Ella is standing next to the wreckage, hands clasped, eyes wide.

“Not me!” she whispers.

Wolfgang closes his eyes briefly, then looks at Felix and Will, who joined him. Ella tends not to be destructive, but like him, is occasionally taken over by a misguided impulse. If it wasn’t her birthday, he’d scold her for breaking something, putting herself in danger, and lying; he suspects she only took the risk because it’s her birthday, and she knew she’d escape all retribution.

“Really, not you?” asks Wolfgang. “Who was it?”

“The wind,” says Ella primly.

“We’re inside,” Wolfgang tells her, adding, “What were you doing?”

“Noth--”

“Ella,” he sighs.

“I...wanted the star,” admits Ella with a sniffle.

Will and Felix start to chuckle. Wolfgang looks down and covers his mouth so he isn’t caught doing the same. He shakes his head, stomach tight from the effort it takes to stay quiet, and forces his expression into a stern one.

“Don’t laugh at me!” says Ella, distressed.

“We’re not laughing at you,,” Will gets out. “Here, we’ll fix the tree...”

“Really raised a genius, Wolfie,” says Felix. “She’s basically a cat, not a kid.”

Wolfgang allows himself a tiny smile, but he eyes Ella nonetheless and walks over to kneel by her. She watches him cautiously and he raises his eyebrows.

“You could have gotten hurt, okay?” he says.

She nods. “I just wanted the star.”

“Okay, next time, ask one of us,” he replies. Then he squints. “Why did you want the star?”

“Shiny,” she tells him.

He hangs his head and finally gives into a laugh. “C’mere.” He tugs her close and kisses the top of her head. “What’s wrong with you, hm?”

She grins and he smirks as an idea strikes him. He gets to his feet and directs her to stand closer to the tree, then takes his phone out.

“Okay, smile,” he murmurs.

Ella beams up at him. He shakes his head and takes the picture, then leans against the doorframe nearby and opens up Kala’s contact, which he’s had since he first met her but surprisingly never made use of. He attaches the picture and captions it you sure you want kids?, then sends it, smiles quickly to himself, and pockets the phone. He finds Will and Felix staring at him.

“What?” he asks, unflustered.

“Did you send that to Kala?” asks Felix, in shock.

He shrugs and nods. “Yeah, she--”

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and instantly takes it out to see the message.

_Kala, 10:02 -- Oh look at her! She looks so proud!_

Wolfgang ignores the destruction in front of him for a moment, wandering to the nearest windowsill for a more comfortable place to lean. He glances at the empty profile picture next to Kala’s name and envisions taking one of her, tugging on her belt to coax her when she laughs and puts her hands over her face.

_Kala, 10:02 -- Why did she knock it over?_

_Wolfgang, 10:03 -- She wanted the star on top._

_Kala, 10:03 -- Well...she should have it. It’s her birthday._

Wolfgang looks at Ella, then sets his phone aside and crosses the room to right the tree. He has her tighten the screws in the base, then glances around at the shed needles and broken ornaments. In the very corner of the room, he sees the star, undamaged. He pick it up and offers it to Ella, who hugs it close.

“Thanks, Papa,” she whispers.

“Thank Miss Kala,” he replies.

“Thank you, Miss Kala!” Ella shouts, then drops into a cross-legged sit and begins to examine the star.

Wolfgang takes his phone up again.

_Wolfgang, 10:05 -- She got it. She says thank you. You’re a bad influence._

_Kala, 10:06 -- Maybe._

He chuckles, then breathes in before he loses the nerve.

_Wolfgang, 10:06 -- Come to the party, 18:00, fire station._

He watches her type for a moment and clicks the phone locked before she can answer. Then it buzzes in his hand and he hurries to type his password.

_Kala, 10:08 -- See you tonight!!_

He exhales and pockets his phone again, then gives into a smile. He remembers himself after a long moment and glances at Ella, who is caressing the star, Felix, who is watching him with amused skepticism, and Will, who is smiling to himself with such intense sincerity and smugness that Wolfgang’s lips twitch in annoyance. He begins to collect the pieces of ornaments strewn through the room.

“Stop smiling,” he tells Will as he nears him.

Will chuckles, smiles wider, and stoops to pick up a few stray ornaments.

“Ella, help,” adds Wolfgang.

Ella groans and continues to look at the star in her hands. Wolfgang flicks her side and she wrinkles her nose at him defiantly.

“You could have asked,” she says.

He laughs. “I did ask.”

“No,” she grumbles as she gets to her feet. “No, you just said.”

“She is just like you when you were a kid, Wolfie,” says Felix, also helping clean up. “Smarter, but otherwise, fucking twins.”

Wolfgang shakes his head, sure that his daughter is more curious, more trusting, and kinder than he ever was, even when he was little. He knows his personality developed in response to his family; he prioritized self-preservation, and he developed an unhealthy distrust for every stranger. Ella, he thinks, will escape this pattern.

He pauses, thinking, and thumbs over a piece of red glass. Ella embraced Kala instantly because she was drawn to her warmth, her goodness; she, at five, did what he could not, though he was attracted to Kala for the same qualities.

“Wolfie?” says Felix, having gone unanswered.

“She’s not like me,” Wolfgang says.

“I think,” says Will quietly after another pause, “that she’s got the best parts of you.”

Wolfgang glances at him. Will shrugs and smiles faintly.

“When she cares about someone, she really cares. And she stands up for those people. And for herself.”

Wolfgang watches Will as he goes back to collecting the biggest pieces of glass and debris. Then he looks to Ella. He didn’t know Anja well enough to recognize any of her characteristics in Ella, but he does see himself, not because he tries to, and not because he’s proud. Ella does resemble him, more than her ocean eyes and her calculated gaze. She resembles who he was before he had to change to survive.

He breathes in deeply and nods at Will. “Thank you.”

Will gives a short, warm smile. Wolfgang looks again at Ella, and finds she’s trying to piece together a broken ornament.

“Mausi, it’s okay--”

“I want to fix it,” says Ella, tilting her head.

“Yeah, sometimes you can’t,” he tells her gently. “It’s okay. We’ve got enough.”

***

Kala nibbles her bottom lip, attempting to affix some tape to a paper snowflake, and searches for a free space on her whiteboard. She tries to piece the pattern together and glances quickly at Dani, who is giving a cutout of Santa a huge mustache with a black pen.

“Do not deface my decorations...” says Kala, pretending to be scandalized.

Dani frowns, considering her art. “I think he’s sexier with a mustache.”

“Santa is never sexy,” advises Kala and Dani gives a long, throaty laugh.

“That’s...yeah, that’s true...here, I’ll draw a tux on him, that’s the most I can do...”

“You put a mustache over his beard, that’s...”

“It’s creative,” retorts Dani.

Kala smiles and glances at her friend, who has a spot of ink on her lip like a beauty mark. She draws her close and thumbs it off, and Dani grins and laughs in thanks. Her hands slide down to find Kala’s, and they look at each other quietly for a moment, breathing in together.

“How are you doing?” Dani asks

“He invited me to Ella’s birthday,” murmurs Kala.

Dani nods excitedly, no trace of jealousy, and squeezes Kala’s hands. Kala smiles and looks down.

“Are you going?” asks Dani.

Kala nods. “I am...”

Dani smiles and Kala suddenly feels scrutinized. She relinquishes her grip on Dani, the winter light touching her as the sun shifts outside; her eyes flicker around her classroom, the desks, cubbies, and excessive art on the walls. She’s scared but thrilled, shy but sure, and for once her mind is quiet. She expected her doubt to grow after she last saw Wolfgang, but it didn’t; after she pressed a shaky kiss to the side of his mouth, she instantly calmed. She went to bed and slept until late morning.

“So what happened?” asks Dani with a laugh.

“Well, we hugged and I--”

“No, babe, what changed for you?” asks Dani, more softly.

Kala thumbs over a stray chalk mark and hums. “I’m not sure anything changed. I think I just...realized something.” She meets her friend’s eyes, unwilling to share more. “It’s funny that we don’t understand ourselves sometimes, isn’t it?”

“I think we do understand ourselves,” says Dani and Kala looks up. “But we think we’re wrong because we can’t be objective. But really, who could understand us the way we understand ourselves? Fuck objectivity. We see ourselves through a lens but, hey, everyone else sees us through their lens.”

This hits Kala harder than she expected it to and her hands falter slightly as she reaches for more tape.

“Just trust yourself,” Dani goes on, shrugging as she colors her Santa suit black and adds a tie. “No, this isn’t good, he looks like the Monopoly man...”

Dani’s voice fades. Kala drifts in the memory of her lips on Wolfgang’s scratchy smile and glances at the clock, impatient. She wants him to hold her, and she hopes he will tonight. 18:00, at the station. She blushes and breathes in, thumbing a new snowflake between her thumb and forefinger, and lets herself get lost in memories of his scent, his rough-soft touch. The indulgence is new, and it’s frightening, but it’s hers.

She softens, closer to the board, and glances to her right at one of Ella’s drawings -- a cow that looks more like a cat, signed with big, loopy Ls, three instead of two. Some of her kids take their drawings home, but not Ella. She moves the magnets that keep the drawing up and slides it into her briefcase, intent on giving it to Wolfgang, and then takes her phone out to count down the time. It’s only 16:00, but she notices a text to hold her over. It’s a picture of a capsized, deflated cake, sporting six candles. He’s captioned it: Glad we have ice cream.

Her chest clenches and she brings her phone close to her face, almost kissing it. She breathes out a soft “ohh” and begins to type.

_Kala, 16:07: You made her a cake??_

He replies immediately.

_Wolfgang, 16:07: Tried to._

Kala walks amongst the desks, forgetting she isn’t alone; she wants to go to him, kiss him and laugh against his lips, and tease him gently for his misguided choice.

_Kala, 16:08: It doesn’t look....too bad._

_Wolfgang, 16:08 -- Oh bullshit_

Kala laughs and perches on one of the desks, crossing her ankles and kicking her feet gently.

_Kala, 16:08 -- Maybe it still tastes good?_

_Wolfgang, 16:09 -- Ella eats literal garbage and she took one look at that and just said “no”_

Kala covers her mouth and closes her eyes briefly, close to laughter.

_Kala, 16:09 -- Oh, that’s terribly mean!_

_Wolfgang, 16:09 -- Yeah, I’m devastated_

Kala grins and tilts her head, consumed by a surge of affection. She thumbs over his name, forgetting the feature this activates on her touch screen, and then inhales in alarm when she sees she’s called him.

“Oh -- oh no,” she whispers to herself, hesitating. If she taps the end button, he’ll see she called and hung up, but if she stays on the line, she must explain herself. “Um.” She throws an embarrassed glance at Dani, and her eyes widen when she hears a faint, surprised “Kala?”

She quickly exits the classroom and puts the phone to her ear.

“Hi, I -- I didn’t mean to dial you,” she tells him, suddenly sweating.

“You could have hung up,” he replies, amused.

“I -- yes -- but then you would wonder,” she says. “So, anyway, hello, goodbye--”

“What are you doing now?” he interrupts.

“Decorating my classroom,” she says, surprised he wants to talk. “Dani is defacing everything. And I’m cold because maintenance wouldn’t put on the heat just for us.”

He pauses, then says gently, “Come over.”

“I thought you said six...”

“I did,” he replies, and she’s sure he’s smirking. “But I think you’d rather be here.” He pauses and she listens to some commotion in the background, Ella squealing and a man loudly singing _“Wie schön, dass du geboren bist!”_ Wolfgang lowers his voice and laughs. “Maybe not.”

“Is that Felix?” murmurs Kala.

“Of course,” he says, adding after a pause. “I want to see you.”

A tingle runs up her spine and her mouth goes dry. “I -- I want to see you, too. I’ll come over.”

“Okay,” he replies, then hangs up. She looks at her phone in her hand, frowning slightly at this abrupt end to the conversation, then walks back into her classroom, preparing herself. She smiles apologetically at Dani. “I’m...”

“Going to see him,” guesses Dani as she stretches to pin the illustration of an elf to a corkboard. She turns over her shoulder and grins. “Good. Go.”

Kala flushes and nods, unable to keep back a smile. She hurries to put on her coat, and seeing the time, throws her bag over her shoulder and rushes down the hall. She continues across the dewy soccer field next to the school, into the U-bahn, and slips through the closing doors just as the train departs. She glances at her phone as she takes a seat and sees that Wolfgang has texted again.

_Wolfgang, 16:15 -- Pick up tape for Felix’s mouth._

Kala grins, cheeks bursting, and hastily tucks her hair away to see better.

_Kala, 16:16 -- I have a stapler in my bag..._

_Wolfgang, 16:16 -- There’s the woman who almost killed someone._

_Kala, 16:16 -- I should not have told you that story._

_Wolfgang, 16:16 - Nope._

Kala’s shoulders soften and she grins again, shaking her head affectionately as she stares down at the texts. After waiting a moment, hoping he’ll continue, she locks her phone and sits back. She’s about to reach for her book in her bag, but she sees an elderly woman glancing at her with a warm smile. The woman blushes at being caught, but leans forward to speak.

“That’s how you know,” says the woman, nodding as she points at the phone in Kala’s lap.

Kala’s breath catches and she opens her mouth to reply, but ends up simply smiling and nodding. She quickly dips her head down to hide yet another grin, fiddling with her humidity-wild hair and curling her toes in her shoes, impatient. She has doubts about the depth of Wolfgang’s feelings, but the intensity of her anticipation masks these. She won’t worry until she considers herself his, and before she can do that, he has to touch her, hold her, kiss her. She inhales at the images these thoughts conjure. Dreams of his tongue slipping over her bottom lip, his hands on the small of her back to pull her close, consume her until she hears her stop announced.

She blinks and gathers herself, sure he’ll read her thoughts through her expression, and walks up to street level. She darts across the street to the station, clenching her fists and breathing slowly as she stands before the door. She fluffs her hair and applies some chapstick, then knocks, but no one answers. She shivers hard, and after another moment in the cold, she cautiously turns the handle and goes inside; she calls hello and an excited yell emanates from the top of the stairs, blending with music. She bites her bottom lip, brow wrinkled in amusement at the idea of a raucous party for a six-year-old, and walks up the stairs. She looks into the kitchen of the station and raises her eyebrows.

Riley is sitting at the kitchen table, nursing her new baby. Will is next to her, one arm around her, the other extended to film Felix, who is shirtless, wearing his fire helmet, and fending off Ella with an oversized foam sword. Ella, also armed with a sword, is wearing a white dress with yellow polka dots and her hair is in two neat braids. Luna, twirling a foam axe, is watching the younger girl with a look of slight concern.

Christmas music rages and a teapot is whistling, but Kala looks beyond the chaos and finds Wolfgang. He’s leaning on the counter in the corner, a mug in his hands, and his eyes are already on her.

The music fades as she stares at him, breath suspended; his mouth remains straight, but the light in his eyes blooms and she shakes. He drops his gaze after a moment and sets his cup aside, then steps across the room to greet her; she feels everyone else’s eyes follow him, but she doesn’t break his gaze, studying the features she wants to kiss and caress. When he reaches her, he puts a hand on her waist and kisses her cheek gently, his stubble brushing her skin as he pulls back and meets her eyes.

She swallows, lost, unsure what to do with her hands since she can’t slide them up his chest. She fights an unfamiliar pulse between her legs and wonders if he planned to greet her like this; the idea alone makes her shiver.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“Hi,” he returns, letting his hand fall off her waist.

She reluctantly breaks his gaze and looks at the others, who have frozen in place to watch -- except for Ella, who lands a devastating blow on Felix’s neck with the sword.

“I got you!” she shrieks delightedly.

“Shit,” says Felix, voice dull as he looks at Kala and Wolfgang.

Kala forces herself to say hello. Will and Riley reply warmly, Felix continues to stare, and Ella grins, drops the sword, and runs up to her. She sees now that Ella has a large, live sunflower tucked behind her ear.

“I think you won,” says Kala, leaning down, adding, “You look very pretty!”

“You look pretty!” shouts Ella.

Kala laughs, nose wrinkling. “Thank you. I like the flower. Where did you get that?”

“Papa stole it,” she says brightly.

Kala looks at Wolfgang with raised brows. He shakes his head. She smiles, then cups Ella’s head and kisses her brow.

“Happy birthday,” she murmurs.

Ella runs away without response, rejoining Luna and Felix, and Kala turns to Wolfgang.

“You didn’t steal it?” she asks.

“No, a woman at the market gave it to her,” he explains. “Ella told me we stole it the whole way here because we didn’t pay.”

Kala envisions Wolfgang’s gentle thank you to the faceless woman at the market and smiles; she’s suspects he doesn’t know the effect they have, the attentive papa, the enthusiastic daughter who unwittingly charms everyone. Her gaze drifts to Ella and she touches Wolfgang’s arm instinctively. She’s about to speak, but laughter erupts as Ella tugs the tablecloth out of place and ties it around her neck like a cape. Kala watches in concern as she leaps onto a chair, then off of it.

“She’s had a lot of sugar,” says Wolfgang, exhausted; he breathes out, his hand returning to Kala’s waist, and adds, “We’ll go somewhere quiet.”

She didn’t expect this but she nods. He crosses the kitchen to pour her a cup of coffee and she follows.

“How’d you take it?” he asks.

“Cream and sugar,” she says gently, walking in the air just from watching him make her a simple, stupid cup of coffee. “Thank you...”

He nods in thanks and shivers, regretting her choice to wear a dress this morning. She wraps her coat tighter, shifting on her feet, and he turns to pass the brimming mug to her. She smiles and hugs the mug close for warmth, then follows him from the kitchen; he shifts the screaming teapot off the stove and moves a bottle of juice that’s threatening to fall off the counter, both actions done instinctively. Kala’s struck by how habituated he is to taking care of details like these, how he treats this station as a home and the people inside of it like a family.

She can’t be sure, but she suspects he finds relationships of any kind quite difficult, even these; she thinks he fell into a loving pattern with these men and their families for Ella’s sake, and now is frightened of his own attachment to them. She wonders if he’ll do the same with her, if he’s capable of loving her for her alone, but puts the doubts from her mind when she feels his hand on the small of her back.

He guides her into the bunker and she inhales, nails sliding on her mug nervously. This is the equivalent of his bedroom and while she doesn’t think he would try anything with his daughter’s party occurring in the next room, she hesitates. Then she feels a flood of warm air and looks at him.

“It’s the warmest room,” he explains.

She raises her brows.

“You’re cold,” he goes on.

She glances down at her bare legs and twitches her toes in her ballet flats. “Mm. I saw it was ten degrees and was...overly optimistic...because last week it was below zero...”

In truth, she wore this lacy, light pink dress because she knew Ella’s birthday party was today, and she held out hope that he might call to invite her. She feels silly now, standing before him in a wool jacket, which obscures how the dress hugs her figure. She sees he’s smiling, amused, and she lifts her chin defiantly but doesn’t speak.

“C’mere,” he says.

He sits on the bed three down from the door and she sits cautiously next to him, drinking her coffee to distract from the fact he’s close enough that she can feel his heat. This becomes impossible when he wraps an arm around her waist and rubs her side to warm her. She stays stiff for a moment, but then she relents and rests her head on his shoulder; her eyes slip helplessly shut and she bites her lip when he thumbs along her hip.

She stays here, her skin tingling, her mind roaring, and suddenly she isn’t so cold. She’s about to speak, but there’s the sound of a glass breaking, a shout, and a collective, disappointed “Ella!” in the next room. Wolfgang shakes his head and drinks his coffee.

“She gets away with everything on her birthday,” he says.

Kala grins gently and meets his eyes. “Of course she does.”

“And she knows it,” he continues, chuckling.

“Or she’s simply clumsy,” suggests Kala.

“She is, but it’s more than that,” he replies, glancing towards the kitchen, where Riley has poked her head in the door.

Kala turns to see Riley soften at the sight of them, and Riley shakes her head to show she won’t interrupt, but Wolfgang calls, “What now?”

“Oh, nothing, you raised a wolf, that’s all--”

“Spray her with a fire extinguisher,” he replies.

Riley laughs as she disappears from sight.

Kala frowns deeply. “You -- you wouldn’t actually spray her with a--”

“My six-year-old daughter?” he asks. “No. Maybe when she’s seven.”

Kala continues to look at him in concern.

“Kala,” he says soothingly. “No.”

“I have to report things like this,” she says, relaxing after a sip of coffee. “I’m a teacher.”

“No, the most I ever do to her is send her to her room,” he says quietly, drinking his coffee and adding as he looks at her, “I’m sure you’ve seen worse.”

“I -- have,” she says dully. “It’s heartbreaking how some people treat their children. I don’t understand it.”

“Most people don’t want children,” he replies.

“I know,” she murmurs, pained. “You didn’t, but you’re so good to her...if you aren’t capable of that then you shouldn’t have children and if you make a mistake you should give them to someone who wants them.”

“I thought about that,” he admits, giving a slight shake of his head. “But I was too worried what would happen to her in the system. And I thought about giving her to a church but that’s similar.”

“Really?” queries Kala.

“Right, what’s the worst that can happen when you put children around men who think God speaks to them,” he mumbles.

“What about...nuns?” murmurs Kala.

He glances at her with a laugh. “No fucking way.”

“Do you have something against nuns?” she asks, trying not to laugh.

“Who doesn’t?” he jokes and sips his coffee.

She gives into a grin and covers her face, shaking her head. He starts to laugh, so she does too, and then they glance at each other.

“I’m sorry, go on, you thought about giving her away…”

He nods, smile fading, and glances out the window across from the bed. He shrugs. “I thought about it, not seriously. I think I decided I would raise her when Anja said she was keeping her. I didn’t say that to anyone or myself but I knew.”

“So you never expected...Anja...to stay?” asks Kala.

“No,” says Wolfgang at once. “No, she left the morning after Ella was born.”

“She what?” asks Kala sharply.

“I hated her for it but I understand now,” he replies.

Kala studies his expression for dishonesty but finds none; his eyes are serene and he’s almost smiling as he gazes out at the rain, coming down in slanted sheets. She softens at his profile, caught by the light outside, and her breath catches at his beauty; she could stare at him for the rest of time and find no need to speak, no need to breathe. Her eyes linger on the small freckle on the crest of his cheek, on the slight uptilt at the very end of his nose, and she fills with disconcerting devotion.

“That must have been so frightening to be alone,” she tells him.

He nods and finishes his coffee, then sets it aside. “I thought I made a mistake. I couldn’t get her to stop crying or smile or sleep through the night and then…” He trails off and starts to chuckle. “One day I was holding her and I was wearing sunglasses and she saw her reflection. And she started to laugh and she couldn’t stop and…” He glances down and grins. “It was different after that.”

“I’ve heard parents say it can take a long time for everything to come together,” says Kala, touched by the joy in his voice.

He nods. “I loved her but we didn’t understand each other until then.”

Kala inhales at this statement -- she assumed, given everything, that he had to adjust to having a child; she assumed the love he feels for Ella developed rather slowly and cautiously.

“Were you there when she was born?” she finds herself saying.

He shakes his head. “I was working.” He breathes out and Kala watches as he tilts his head slightly back, watching the rain again; a new light enters his eyes and his lips twitch just enough to suggest a smile -- she’s noticed this expression, though subtle, is the most genuine of them all, and she wonders if she has ever made him smile like this. “It was strange.”

“What?” she murmurs.

“It was a bad fire,” he replies. “The roof was coming down, and I went inside and found a woman on the stairs and...I knew she must be trying to find someone upstairs. There was a little boy in his room and if she hadn’t gone back for him, she would have lived. His door was shut, we would have found him in time...but she went back, and she died…and…” He shakes his head. “And I went from that to hold Ella the first time.”

Kala knows she should be struck by the contrast, but she thinks first of how dangerous his job truly is.

“You went in when the roof was…? Do you usually…?”

He glances at her and nods. She swallows.

“What is that like?”

He considers, then quietly says, “I like it. It takes a different kind of focus.” He shrugs. “I’ve always needed that in my life.”

“That focus?” she murmurs.

He nods. “Not all the time, but I’d feel incomplete without it at all.” He pauses, looking at her, seeming to consider if he should go on. “I had to fight for everything as a kid, for what I wanted, to protect myself, and when I didn’t have to fight anymore, I didn’t know who I was.”

She lingers on his expression, which has grown distant, darker. She wants to ask why he had to fight so often, but suspects this isn’t hers to know, not yet. “So...you became a firefighter...to replace that feeling you had as a child?”

“And because firefighters and EMTs were some of the only people who ever...helped me or my mother.”

“You joined young, didn’t you?” she murmurs.

“When I was eighteen,” he replies. “I would have joined sooner, or tried to, but I...had to wait until my father died.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, unsure why this would be the case; she wonders if his father was ill and he had to care for him, but the anger in his voice seems to refute this idea. She hopes, when his guard is down and he’s next to her in bed, sweat-drenched and naked, after making love like she’s dreamed of all day, he might relent; he might say more than a few, vague words about his young life. Then she breathes in, realizing she expects this in her future, and tries to quell her hopes; she knows he wants her that way, but she has to prepare if something changes, if he finds a woman he likes more.

“I’m sorry, we were talking about the night Ella was born,” she says, skirting her thoughts about being in bed with him. “What was it like when you held her?”

He doesn’t speak, his eyes on the rain; the pause is so lengthy that she nearly apologizes for asking, but just as she’s about to, he murmurs, “I loved my mother and I love Felix, but not the way I love my daughter.” He shakes his head slightly. “When I held her, it was...uncomplicated.”

Kala finds this word choice unusual but very telling. She slowly nods.

“Pure,” she replies. “Pure love.” She smiles at him with warm, wide eyes. “That’s the way you should feel.”

“She was so suspicious of me,” he says quietly, amused. “And everyone.”

He takes out his phone and Kala sees that the picture on his lockscreen is of Ella, dressed as a dragon for Halloween. She laughs softly and he nudges her as he unlocks the phone, then pauses, his finger hovering over the gallery icon.

“Uh, close your eyes.”

“Why?” asks Kala.

“I don’t think I deleted things I...needed to delete,” he admits.

Kala rolls her eyes and leans away, averting her gaze. Then she murmurs, “If it’s Dani’s breasts, I’ve seen those…”

He laughs quietly -- she notes he didn’t deny her joke -- and then touches her arm. “Okay.”

She looks back to his phone and sees a picture of Ella as a baby, sitting in a high chair, her arms folded, her lips out in a dramatic pout, her hair frizzing up in a spike. Kala instantly laughs, covering her mouth, and whispers, “Oh no.”

“Look at her expression,” says Wolfgang.

“She looks like the Grinch…”

“She didn’t trust anyone,” he tells her. “She was so serious.”

Kala looks at him, smiling. “Well, like her papa…”

He laughs. “She was thinking, at all times, this is bullshit.”

Kala’s eyes crinkle hard and she covers her mouth. “Yes, like her papa…” She squints. “Why is her hair like that?”

“It’s not affected by gravity,” he murmurs.

“Was her mother’s like that?” asks Kala.

“No,” says Wolfgang.

“Your mother’s?” suggests Kala.

“No, no,” mumbles Wolfgang. “She has my mom’s eyebrows though.”

Kala inspects the picture more closely and says, “You know, she looks Russian to me…”

“My family is Russian,” says Wolfgang.

Kala glances at him, curious. "Oh. Did you live there?"

He shakes his head. "No, East Berlin until the wall came down, and we weren't German after that-- not to the West Berliners, anyway, and not to my father."

"Why not to him?" asks Kala.

"He never liked Germans, so we spoke Russian, went to a Russian church…”

"Oh, you speak it," says Kala enthusiastically.

"Not as well as I used to," he replies. "Sometimes I talk to Ella in it because the accent makes her laugh."

Kala grins gently. "It does?"

"Yeah, she loves it," he says.

"Say something," coaxes Kala.

He glances down thoughtfully, then murmurs, “Ya ne mogu perestat' dumat' o tebe.”

Kala feels the accent fits his tone and particular lilt quite naturally; she wants to hear it more often.

“What does that mean?” she asks.

He shakes his head, refusing to tell her, and she huffs, disgruntled but playful. She looks at him directly, considering, then drifts in his eyes.

“Tumhaare aankhen sabase jyaada khoobasoorat hai,” she whispers; she’s too shy to admit he has the most beautiful eyes she’s ever seen in a language he understands.

“What does that mean?” he echoes.

“Oh, no,” says Kala seriously.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” he murmurs, sliding his hands along her waist.

She shakes her head and presses closer, eyes growing brighter by the moment. “No. Say something else.”

He smirks. “Zachem? Eto tebya zavodit?”

She laughs, nose wrinkling in pure mirth, and puts her arms around his neck. “Okay, tell me.”

“I…” he trails off, flushing.

“Oh, is it rude?” she asks, thumbing along his neck.

“Yeah, somewhat,” he admits, glancing down and laughing. “I said ‘Why? Is it turning you on?’”

“Wolfgang,” she sighs, but she isn’t disappointed; her blood quickens and her gaze drops to his lips. “And what you said before?”

“I said I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, quiet as he meets her eyes.

“I said you have the most beautiful eyes,” she whispers.

He smiles, pausing, then tucks her hair out of her face and murmurs, “Warm now?”

She inhales, licking the inside of her lips, and her bright eyes flash as she nods. She takes off her coat, trembling, so shy she feels she may as well be unlatching her bra for him to see all of her. She toys with her lip between her teeth as she sets the coat aside, and when she looks back at him, she finds his gaze on her body; he’s holding his mug up as if he was about to drink, but forgot to at the sight of her.

She flushes and swallows, but manages to nudge his wrist and make him lift his mug to his mouth. He laughs at himself, caught, then finishes his coffee with his gaze averted.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and she sees the slightest color in his cheeks.

She shakes her head to show she doesn’t mind. She wants him to want her, though she’s unsure how to express this in words. She balances her coffee in her lap and looks down, fingers clenched on the ceramic, and then she forces herself to breathe and meet his eyes. She doesn’t understand the tension when they’re together, because she’s never experienced it before this; all she knows is that she wants to be closer, and his expression tells her he does too.

“I think we have bad timing,” she confides.

He lifts his brows. “Why?”

“We’re never alone when...when we want to be,” she whispers, taking a risk by speaking for them both.

“We’re almost alone,” he replies easily, thumbing over her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear again; for once, she’s grateful it never stays in place for long.

“That isn’t the same,” she says, her voice barely audible.

He nods and she looks down at her knees, angled slightly away from his to convey -- modesty? restraint? She isn’t sure, but she feels deprived, so she relaxes and lets them brush Wolfgang’s legs; she floods with relief at the contact, and he gently runs his knuckle along the outside of one knee, studying her.

Her skin prickles pleasantly as she looks at him, and he drags his touch along her thigh before resting his hand on her hip; since his other arm is wrapped around her waist, he’s almost hugging her.

“What changed?” he asks, tone mild.

She glances down and presses her lips together to prevent a smile, but all this does is accentuate her dimples and the pleased wrinkles on the corners of her eyes. “Does it matter?”

He tilts his head as he looks at her, lips curving playfully as he leans closer. “Not right now…”

She laughs and pushes him away, gentle but firm; she wants him to kiss her -- she’s never wanted something so much -- but not before he understands. He settles for squeezing her waist and she leans almost close enough to touch her nose to his.

“Do you remember what I told you last night?” she asks him, eyes shining.

He softens. “You don’t feel anything at first.”

She nods and waits, unable to speak.

“I never feel anything at all,” he goes on with a touch of sarcasm.

“You do,” she tells him, but she smiles in understanding.

“Not like this,” he says, so immediately and intensely that her hair stands on end.

“Then we aren’t so different,” she replies, voice faint.

He shakes his head in agreement and looks down; they hold each other for a moment, ignorant of the party and the wind whipping outside.

“Want to reconsider?” he asks.

She breathes out. “Reconsider what?”

“Getting dinner with me,” he says sincerely.

“I’ve had dinner with you already…” she says, flushing as a sly smile forms on her lips.

He nods, playing along, and tugs her closer. She laughs, relenting, and tilts her face towards his; she’s been here barely twenty minutes, but it doesn’t surprise her that she’s in his arms with a smile splitting her face. It seems the universe has been willing her towards this moment since she first hurried towards him in the hall, apologizing for how late she was.

“Of course I’ll have dinner with you,” she tells him.

He takes her hand and twines their fingers. “And I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She glances down at their hands together. “Actually I wasn’t sure you would be there...you don’t seem like you like parties and…”

“I have a good reason to go if you’ll--”

“I’ll be there,” she interrupts, and then they both soften and laugh.

“I’m sorry,” she says, smiling as she looks down, embarrassed.

He shakes his head and lets go of her hand so he can comb his fingers through her hair. She wants to hide here with him all night.

“What about Ella?” she asks because she must.

He trails his touch along her jaw and continues down her arm. “This is for us right now.”

She nods, though she wants to name what this is, and what it might become, and how it might affect the little girl she’s grown to love.

“Okay,” she whispers.

She’s newly aware that they are on his bed, that the party has continued without them, and that a short kiss -- or more, though she sweats even thinking of it -- would be possible. She’s torn, desperately curious to kiss a man she actually wants, but protective of the circumstances; she wants hours alone with him to ease into his touch and she doesn’t have that now.

She breathes in when his nose touches hers, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his biceps.

“I’m sorry I took so long--”

He interrupts her by kissing the side of her mouth, an echo of her gesture last night; she finds herself strangely close to tears and she clings to him, pressing closer. She feels the heat of his breath on her mouth and she closes her eyes in anticipation of a kiss, but a raucous scream interrupts them and Ella streaks through the bunks with several yellow streamers in her hands, followed by Felix. Ella runs into a bookshelf and jumps back before it falls like thunder.

Ella freezes, then stacks two books, an effort to offset the obvious wreckage. Kala blinks, disoriented, and hears Wolfgang breathe out sharply next to her.

“You don’t want kids,” mumbles Wolfgang, letting her go, getting up, and lifting Ella into his arms to prevent further damage.

“Aw!” she complains.

“Yeah, you’re done,” says Wolfgang, patting her side. “What do you want to do first? Ice cream or presents?”

“Both,” answers Ella.

Kala swallows her disappointment and puts on a smile, getting to her feet to join them by the bookcase. Wolfgang catches her glance and rolls his eyes in apology. She shakes her head and laughs to show it’s alright; she can’t be too annoyed with Ella for being exuberant on her birthday.

“Okay, let’s do that,” says Wolfgang, setting Ella back down and sending her towards the kitchen. He looks at Kala and adds in a murmur, “Sorry.”

Then Felix steps even with them, hands on his hips, looking after Ella.

“I tried to stop her from coming in here in case you two were, you know, having...relations.”

Kala’s eyes widen and she begins to sweat again. Wolfgang slowly turns and looks at Felix, whose expression abruptly changes; he holds his hands up and steps away.

“Hey, don’t punch me, at least I didn’t say fucking!”

Wolfgang rubs his face, exhausted, and puts his hand on the back of Kala’s arm to guide her out of the room after Felix.

“Sorry,” he says again.

She looks at him, flushed, but manages to smile and say, “I’ll get used to him.”

He laughs and slides his hand down, taking hers. She grins, lost in him, and they join the others in the kitchen, where Will is scooping ice cream into several bowls while Felix fixes a paper crown on Ella’s head. Kala notices that a broom is leaning against the counter, glass shards piled in the accompanying dust pan; she sees an overturned lamp nearby and smiles to herself at Ella’s behavior -- despite what Wolfgang says, she’s convinced the damage Ella does is mostly due to excitement and impatience.

Wolfgang squeezes her hand before letting it go, crossing the kitchen to help Will. Kala stands still for a moment, feeling exposed without him next to her, then sits next to Riley at the kitchen table and offers a smile.

Riley grins quickly at her before returning her gaze to her newborn. Kala leans closer to peek and awws instantly at the snub nose and starry eyes framed by a soft blue blanket.

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” she whispers.

“Do you want to hold her?” asks Riley.

Kala hesitates, but can’t resist; she hasn’t held a baby in a very long time. She nods and Riley shifts Sonia to her, and she cradles her carefully, her face softening as she stares down at the tiny human in her arms.

“Oh,” she breathes, grinning despite the sudden heaviness in her heart. “Oh, she’s perfect…”

Riley laughs. “Thank you...she’s an easy baby, and Luna’s been really lovely about it all…”

Kala glances at Luna, who is giving Ella a piggyback ride towards the den to the side of the kitchen.

“I think she’s already had plenty of practice as a big sister,” says Kala kindly.

Riley nods and they watch the girls for a moment together before Kala returns her gaze to Sonia, who yawns.

“Oh no,” murmurs Kala, smoothing her thumb over a wrinkle on Sonia’s forehead. “Oh goodness, don’t you love babies’ wrinkles? I could just stare at those wrinkles all day…”

“I know!” agrees Riley. “Will was saying she looks like a little frog…”

Kala laughs and nods, then looks up at Riley’s hand on her arm.

“I’m glad you came,” Riley murmurs. “I know it’s difficult to get him to talk but he really likes you and you’re so good together.”

Kala floats on these words and nods thankfully. “I -- I’m glad you don’t feel like I’m intruding, you’re all so close--”

“No, not at all,” Riley reassures her, smiling big. “We all want you here.”

Kala smiles in response, then gently rocks Sonia and looks at Wolfgang, who has knelt in front of Ella to wipe a stain off her dress. She bites her bottom lip, overwhelmed as she imagines that this has always been hers -- the baby in her arms is theirs, so is Ella, and she’s been here from the very start; she met Wolfgang when they were young, and they kept Ella because they wanted a family together, because they always had.

“What _are_ you?” Wolfgang asks his daughter with a playful frown. “Are you a...superhero?”

“I’m a knight!” yells Ella.

Wolfgang laughs and shakes his head. “Then why do you have a crown?”

“I’m a princess knight,” says Ella.

“And this?” asks Wolfgang, tugging on the cape.

Ella shifts on her feet, searching for a good response, and pouts when she doesn’t come up with one. Wolfgang senses she’s embarrassed -- Kala smiles at this silly sensitivity -- so he pulls on her braids to make her laugh.

“Princess knights can have capes, it’s okay,” he says quickly.

Then he glances at Kala and she inhales, caught staring; she smiles feebly, flushing, and his gaze drops to the baby. His eyes brighten and his smile instantly fades. He doesn’t move for a moment and Kala’s heart pounds, wondering if he lost himself in a fantasy similar to the one she just dreamt. Ella has shout “papa!” at him before he looks away.

“Hm, mausi, sorry...what?” he asks.

“Presents!” sighs Ella.

He nods and gets to his feet. Kala smiles once more at Riley and passes Sonia back to her, and everyone follows Ella into the den. Wolfgang takes a wreath of candles down from the mantle and puts it on the coffee table, then reaches into his pocket for a lighter.

“What’s that?” murmurs Kala.

“A _Geburtstagkranz_ ,” he tells her as he lights the twelve candles. “One candle for every year she’s a kid.”

Ella balances her chin on the coffee table, watching. “Papa, why are there…” She pauses to count. “Twelve?”

“Because you become an adult when you turn twelve,” he says. “Then it’s off to the salt mines…”

Ella’s eyes flash in alarm and she yelps, “What? What is that?”

“Wolfgang,” sighs Riley gently. “He’s joking, sweetie.”

Ella looks at her, clearly not convinced, and back at Wolfgang, who smirks and squeezes Ella from the side. She relaxes after another suspicious glance at him and accepts a dish of ice cream from Will.

Wolfgang sits next to Kala and puts an arm around her -- they smile briefly at each other -- and they spend the next half hour drinking coffee, eating chocolate-strawberry ice cream, and watching Ella open presents. Kala snuggles against Wolfgang when she’s done eating, comfortable enough to act like his girlfriend, though she isn’t sure he sees her that way yet.

Ella thanks her for the book, then flips the cover open, settles on her tummy in front of the fire, and starts to read. The adults chuckle and glance at each other.

“Hey, Ells Bells,” says Felix. “You have one more to open.”

“I want to read Miss Kala’s book,” argues Ella.

Kala laughs and frees herself from Wolfgang’s grip, approaching Ella, and kneels down.

“How about this?” she says. “You open the last one, and then we can read that together.”

“And papa,” says Ella.

“Okay, and papa,” agrees Kala, shooting a small smile at Wolfgang, who nods.

Ella closes the book and sets it aside, and Wolfgang gets up to hand her a package wrapped in newspaper. She settles it on her lap and looks intently at Kala.

“My birthday is almost on Christmas,” she whispers, as if telling a secret.

“Yes it is!” says Kala.

Ella begins to unwrap the package. “It’s so papa only has to buy me one present.”

Will and Felix both snort and Riley’s musical laugh rings through the room. Kala covers her mouth, cheeks bursting, and looks at Wolfgang.

He nods and kneels by Ella, pinching her chin. “You know what I could get you instead of one present?”

Ella gasps. “Two?!”

“None,” he replies, and kisses her forehead.

“Wolfgang,” murmurs Kala while Ella glowers at him. “That was awful…”

“You know I didn’t pick what day you’re born, right?” Wolfgang asks Ella, laughing at Kala’s reproach. “It’s a coincidence it’s near Christmas.”

“What’s that?” asks Ella, continuing to unwrap, but before he can answer she gasps and tugs a magnifying glass out of the paper. “Oohhh!”

Wolfgang nudges Kala and murmurs, “I tried.”

“Oh, she’ll love it,” says Kala confidently, and then she sees Ella pull a children’s nature guide out and she beams. “Oh, Wolfgang...oh my God, that’s perfect…”

“Thanks,” he says quietly, adding to Ella, “You can use the net we have at home and catch anything you want--”

Ella interrupts by launching into Wolfgang’s arms to hug him. “Thank you, Papa!”

He laughs and hugs her tightly, kissing the side of her head. Kala seeks Riley’s gaze and they grin at each other.

“Can we go now?” yells Ella, jumping away from Wolfgang, picking up the book, and hugging it to her chest. “I want to go now, Papa…”

“It’s dark out, mausi,” he replies. “And it’s raining.”

“We can use flashlights!” she says eagerly.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Tomorrow. Even if it’s raining.”

Ella nods disappointedly and sits down again, opening the book on her lap and leaning on the side of the couch nearby. Luna joins her and tells her she’ll help with the big words -- Kala catches Will and Riley smile quickly at each other -- and Felix gets up with a yawn. Wolfgang stands and pulls Kala up by her hand, explaining in a murmur that Ella will read the rest of the night, and Felix comes back with a jug of eggnog and a tray of glasses.

“Kiddie night is over,” he says, starting to pour the eggnog.

Wolfgang’s eyes flicker in annoyance and amusement and he touches his nose to Kala’s temple.

“Do you want to stay a while?” he asks.

She glances at him and nods, accepting a glass of eggnog from Felix with a quiet word of thanks. She sips it, looking longingly at Wolfgang, and blushes when he catches her; a grin spreads slowly on his lips and he shakes his head, so she shoves him and they laugh together, forgetting they aren’t alone. She breathes out, softening, and bites her bottom lip -- it’s impossible that she’s in his arms like she’s always been his, impossible that her mind hasn’t become an overtaxed printer, spitting out all the ink-blotted, ragged reasons they shouldn’t be together.

She feels calm, unexpectedly sure, and she hopes if they find a moment alone to kiss, she’ll be able to admit that she’s never wanted someone so much. But for now, she can’t think of kissing him or dream of going home, then texting him to come over, so she focuses on the others, on the music and the nutmeg on her tongue.

“Hey, Wolfie finally got what he wanted for Christmas,” observes Felix, leaning back, having already drained his eggnog. “A fucking girlfriend.”

“Felix!” sighs Riley while Will stifles a laugh and Kala’s eyes fly open.

“What?” asks Felix, pouring more. “It’s true. We should all be fucking relieved. At least you should be, Riley, since he keeps bothering you for advice and coming over and getting drunk and sleeping on your couch like a bum.” He drinks more eggnog. “Just saying.”

Wolfgang leans slightly forward to look at him and says nothing, but Felix’s eyes widen. Kala smirks at Wolfgang’s ability to inspire fear with a glance.

“I don’t mind,” says Riley kindly. “He’s the little brother I never had.”

“He’s more like the ex that keeps drunk dialing you,” murmurs Will and everyone laughs.

“That’s not fair!” says Riley gently. “We love you, Wolfgang--”

“Do you know what it’s like to be his boss?” asks Will. “Ten years and he hasn’t mellowed out--”

“You hired me,” argues Wolfgang.

“I thought you were…” Will trails off and Riley giggles.

“Handsome,” she jokes.

Everyone laughs again and Will shakes his head. “No, that is not why I hired you--”

“Oh, so you don’t deny it,” interjects Wolfgang.

“That’s not--”

Riley strokes Will’s hair lovingly, nose wrinkled, and he hangs his head. Wolfgang sips his eggnog, satisfied, and Kala rolls her eyes.

“I hired you because you seemed responsible and genuine,” Will says after the laughter calms. “It was the right decision, you turned into one of the best firefighters I know.”

“Will gets really romantic when he drinks,” Wolfgang tells Kala.

Will kicks Wolfgang hard and laughs. “Fuck you.”

Wolfgang grins and glances at him. “No, I owe you, no one else would have hired me.”

“Why’s that?” murmurs Kala.

Felix refreshes his nog. “His family didn’t have the best reputation.”

Kala notices a hush fall and feels Wolfgang stiffen slightly; she sees Riley cast a protective glance at him, and she looks to Felix, expecting him to elaborate since he has overshared so far, but he doesn’t continue. Kala inhales, concerned, and turns to Wolfgang.

“Still, you’re a pain in the ass,” Will says before she can speak. “Always the last one out. The amount of times I thought you died...damn, man.”

The group relaxes again, chuckling.

“Wolfie doesn’t have a fucking normal relationship with danger, okay?” says Felix. “When we were...sixteen, yeah, we were walking around the city at night and we heard a fight, and instead of turning around, Wolfie has to fucking scope it out, right? In case someone needed help, he said, bullshit, he just wanted to get in a fight -- so we go, and it’s six guys beating up two others. And I know Wolfie looks like he knows how to fight now, but when we were sixteen, he was, you know, sorta twink-y--”

Will snorts. “I don’t think you know what that means.”

“Cute, blonde, cream-filled,” says Felix, nodding wisely.

Wolfgang shakes his head dully.

“--so anyway--”

“No, no, you can’t use the term twink for him,” says Will, laughing. “He’s a jock.”

“Will’s right,” says Kala, surprising everyone. “What? I listen to Lito and Hernando...categorize men.” She frowns. “Though I’m still unsure what an otter is…”

“Oh, think...bear, but slender,” murmurs Riley.

“Oh...” says Kala.

“Everyone shut up!” says Felix. “Okay, so six against two, I wanted to leave, but what did Wolfie do? Yelled at the guys to give the other two a chance to run, so then they came after us. Fucking unbelievable.”

“We won,” grumbles Wolfgang.

“Yeah after you broke a rib and I grabbed a pipe to beat them off. Fuck, man…and he did that all the time! Can’t believe we never fucking died.”

Will shrugs. “You both knew how to fight.”

“Oh, so you think Wolfie has good judgment? Let me tell you about the time he crashed his car into his cousin’s car--”

“Steiner had that coming,” says Wolfgang.

“You broke your arm!” replies Felix, exasperated.

Kala frowns and considers Wolfgang, torn between amusement and worry. “How many bones have you broken?”

He leans back, eyes searching the ceiling as he counts in his mind. “Five. Same arm twice, two ribs, two fingers.”

“My God,” murmurs Kala, watching him as he leans forward to refill his eggnog. “You’re going to be a very rickety old man with all those old injuries…”

He laughs. “Yeah, I’ll need a cane…”

“On the bright side, you can look forward to shaking your cane at disrespectful teens on your lawn,” Kala goes on.

“I’ve dreamed of that,” he jokes.

“You’d be a good grumpy old man,” she says affectionately.

They look at each other and laugh together at this inane discussion. Kala’s cheeks warm with blood and she looks down, and he tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes flash into his and they smile briefly at one another, and she rests closer to him while they listen to the others talk. The conversation continues, Felix sharing stories, Riley gently teasing, Luna and Ella conversing quietly about snails. Kala drifts sleepily, resting her head on Wolfgang’s shoulder; the last thing she hears is Ella remark about escargot, pronounced with a hard T, before her eyes slip shut.

She’s startled awake by Sonia crying. She blinks, still in Wolfgang’s arms, and her eyes seek the clock above the mantle -- 9:16, nearly two hours later. She flushes, sitting up, and sees Riley, Will, and Luna putting on their winter coats.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I...I’ve been so tired,” she begins to say, but when she turns to look at Wolfgang, she sees that he fell asleep too.

Her chest suddenly aches -- she never expected to have this intimacy with him so soon; even if she kissed him or had sex with him, she anticipated distance, and she thought he would be cautious and slow to trust her completely. But now her expectations have changed, and a brief flicker of fear runs through her; now, a kiss will be a promise, sex will mean commitment. They’re close enough that if they decide to be together, it will be serious immediately, and while she wants this all-consumingly, she’s unsure if he does.

She breathes in and out slowly, putting the thoughts from her mind, and then looks up at Ella’s arrival.

“I want to go home,” Ella says with a massive yawn.

Kala smiles and nods. “Okay.”

She nudges Wolfgang, who sits up and inhales sharply, looking around. He blinks a few times, then glances at Ella like he’s not quite sure who she is.

“What time is it?” he mumbles.

Kala answers. He looks at her, then down at his arms around her, keeping her close. He breathes out slowly, and Kala senses the same concerns she had just occurred to him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m always exhausted…”

“No, I fell asleep too,” she whispers.

He nods and she realizes that he’s too shy to speak; her mouth goes dry as she meets his eyes, and she slowly slides her hand along his forearm.

“Can we go?” interrupts Ella.

Wolfgang nods without looking at her. Kala gives a warm, feeble smile, and they continue to stare at one another.

“Hello?” shouts Ella.

Wolfgang blinks and lets go of Kala, both of them flushed. He gently pushes Ella towards her coat and bag in the corner, then begins to gather her gifts. Kala leaves the den to retrieve her coat from his bunk where she left it, and she pauses in the dark, empty room, watching the rain reflect in the yellow light from the streetlamps.

She stands still, serene and suspended in the moment, and loses herself in a stream of images...catching him singing gently to Ella in the apple orchard, his gaze when she was smiling for the picture at the fire station, his scraped-up hands as he helped her cook. She smiles, tilting her head back, indulging in the world she’s created for herself, a world where she is waiting for him to call her name, to take her hand as they walk to the car with Ella, to watch the Christmas lights swirl through the passenger window and hum to the radio while he strokes her knee.

She lingers one more moment, reluctant to leave this night, this man, and just as she turns to leave, she feels hands on her waist; she inhales in surprise, eyes flashing wide, and her skin tingles at the unexpected touch. She turns to find Wolfgang close to her, looking into her eyes with such intensity that she shivers. He doesn’t speak, and she doesn’t need him to -- she knows why he joined her here.

She draws a trembling breath, falling into him, and closes her eyes as his lips find hers.

The bricks fall away under her feet. She sinks into his touch, her fingertips twitching in pleasure, and slides her arms slowly up as he deepens the kiss; she murmurs, unable to help herself, then inhales as he grips her closer, needy, almost rough.

The kiss consumes her like a prayer. She moans into his mouth, he gives a quiet groan, and her muscles go weak at the sound. She presses closer, hungry and desperate, and he takes her ass in his hands and tugs her more firmly against him; she moans again, more feebly, when she feels his cock press against her through her dress; she thrills at the sensation, clutching her fingertips in the fabric of his shirt, craving to be filled by him, to feel his heat inside of her.

She feels suddenly faint, sweat starting on her brow. He slides his hands up her back, then cups her face to keep her close, the kiss transforming to a gentler, more reverent one. Her brows come together slightly, overwhelmed by the affection in his touch, and she breathes in through her nose as they taste each other; she listens to the sound of their lips together, melting.

When they finally separate, they stay close enough that their noses touch; he breathes out hard, his thumb stroking her cheekbone to her ear, and she looks at him with diamond eyes.

“Wolfgang,” she mumbles

He rests his forehead on hers and she closes her eyes, sinking into a tight, tender hug. They sway together, both breathing in. Once again, Kala finds herself on the verge of tears, and she’s thankful that she can hide her face in his chest, drown in his scent, and cling to him like she’s wanted to for weeks; she has never felt so safe, so cherished. He rubs her back gently and she smiles, leaning all her weight on him as he nuzzles into her hair.

“Finally,” he says.

She pulls back slightly, beaming, and touches her fingertips to his lips. “Finally.”

They laugh together and bump noses, and he strokes her hair, draws his fingers along her jawline, thumbs her chin. She nuzzles him and squeezes his arms, both of them beyond words, and they stay like this while the rain pelts the window.

He inhales after a moment, about to speak, but Ella calls, “Papa?” from the next room. He glances in the direction of the call, then looks back to Kala.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s alright,” she whispers, sliding her hands up his chest. “I’ll be here tomorrow, I know you have to go--”

He interrupts with a gentle kiss and she smiles on his lips; he breathes in deeply, hands on her waist, and slides his nose on hers before reluctantly nodding.

“Tschüß,” he says quietly.

She repeats him, looking into his eyes, and he lets her go. Soon, she’s alone in the dorm once again, standing exactly as she was before he joined her. She looks out at the rain, heart pounding, and then she exhales, grinning, and presses both of her hands to her face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kala experiences something new and Wolfgang confronts an opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will answer all comments tomorrow!! I'm sorry that I'm so bad about replying.

_His lips brush the shell of her ear and she slowly smiles, eyes closed, and turns to touch her nose to his cheek to show she wants him to continue. He kisses the side of her mouth through a grin, his hand sliding along her ribs, pressing closer under the covers so she feels his cock against her bum; she breathes in, smile widening, and murmurs quietly._

_“Like this?” he mumbles, dragging his fingers down her side, catching them on the hem of her panties._

_She nods, her hair falling over her face as she reaches to push his boxers down; he slips his fingers in between her legs, over wet lace, and kisses her neck with a brush of teeth._

_Her skin prickles and she grins, whispering, “Before she wakes up…”_

_He chuckles and moves his hand to her breasts. “Be patient.”_

_“Mm,” she complains, rocking gently against his cock._

_He groans quietly, his hand sliding up her neck to cup her face; he thumbs over her brow, cheekbone, and lips, lingering here. She says his name and he says hers, and then he knows his hand in her hair and tugs on it; she inhales, flooding with desire, and pulls her panties down to her knees, then presses against him again, more insistently._

_She feels his chest rise and fall against her back. He squeezes her breasts again and she turns, flexing her back to give him better access, and he kisses her consumingly, before shoving her back onto her side, pulling her against him, and driving into her._

_He rolls his hips to thrust into her as deeply as he can and she moans with an open smile. He kisses her behind her ear, groaning, so close that his voice vibrates against her skin._

_“Babe,” he mumbles, gripping one of her breasts while he moves inside of her._

_“Wolfgang,” she whispers, tucking her face into the pillow, suddenly shy to show him how much she wants this._

_She clutches her fingers in the sheets, moaning again as he increases his pace, and then he turns her so he’s on top of her._

_“Want to kiss you,” he murmurs in explanation._

_She slowly locks her arms around his neck, her mouth finding his, but not before she looks into his ice-green eyes and touches his lips. He enters her again, brow wrinkling._

_“God, Kala--”_

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Kala throws her arm out of bed to silence the alarm clock, disoriented, and sits up so the blood rushes from her head. She blinks at her room like she hasn’t seen it before, then closes her eyes and sinks in realization; her cheeks grow hot and she massages her eyes as if she has a headache, then becomes uncomfortably aware how hard her nipples are under her tank top, how wet she is. She would have been able to discount the dream as the result of an unattended, sleep-deprived brain, but now she can’t.

She wants what she dreamed. She wishes he was behind her in bed now, making her wait just long enough before…

She gets out of bed abruptly, stalking to the kitchen to make coffee, which will clear her head. It must clear her head.

She holds herself for warmth while the coffee drips through the filter into her cup, shifting on her feet and tossing her hair, annoyed with herself. She’s never had a dream like that, but she doesn’t let herself think about that. She grabs the coffee impatiently and pours in an unmeasured amount of cream and sugar, the liquid sloshing on her skin, and hurries back to her room. She sits up in bed, drinking it, and stares out the window at the glaucous sky, but she doesn’t see the bare trees or the tram rushing past. She sees his rough fingertips tracking over her tummy, over her panties, making her giggle and jump while she playfully pushes him away.

She fights the images that are playing in her mind, incomplete and out of order: a kiss just under her breast, his hands on her waist, his gaze as he approaches her, his weight on her, tired after a long day. She closes her eyes, hoping this helps, but all this does is bring back their kiss.

She sets her coffee aside, wiping a drop off her lips with a swipe of her tongue, and stares at the wall across from her bed. She expected to wake up with a sense of pure joy and relief, but instead, she feels desperately alone. She wishes he was here to watch her; she wants to study his eyes as he take in her skin, her sleep-mussed hair. She wants to curl up next to him, playing with his hair, teasing him about stubble, while they wait for the sky to grow lilac and orange, while they wait for the sound of little feet outside their door.

She breathes out, sniffling; she wishes her feelings for him were less tangled, but she doesn’t want him alone; she wants a place in his world. She supposes this is a normal stage of falling in love, the natural progression from craving him only, from seeing him as a separate, perfect entity. But she’s troubled, because she never saw him that way -- she’s only ever wanted to be with all of him, the good and the bad.

She reflects on her sister, her friends, the senseless idealization and infatuation they all feel at first when they meet someone. She feels she should have felt this; like she skipped a stage and she loves Wolfgang unnaturally, like she must be seeking something beyond a relationship, something he can’t give her.

She gets up again to make more coffee, too distracted to put on a robe or up the heat. She stands shivering in the kitchen again, rubbing her knees together, debating whether she should shower. She exhales hard, annoyed and turned on, and puts her hands on her breasts to warm them up; this is a typical gesture of hers, adopted when she first got to icy Berlin, but this morning she realizes this is injudicious because the sensation reminds her instantly of her dream.

She quickly drops her hands, eyes flying wider. She keeps her hands at her side for a moment, waiting for the coffee; then her restraint breaks and she leans against the counter, slipping her hand under her panties. She’s never done this, and she didn’t expect to this morning, but suddenly she can’t help herself -- she tips her head back, eyes closing, and slowly glides her fingers over her clit. She bites her bottom lip, surprised by the intensity of this, and opens her hips a bit wider while she moves her fingers in slow circles. She savors the memory of his taste from last night and imagines him behind her, touching her like this while they wait for breakfast to cook, wild for each other, unable to wait for a more appropriate time and place.

She tips her head back further, her hair skimming the counter, and she reaches farther, letting her fingers get slick and sticky. She hums, transported, and brings her other hand to her breasts; she pulls her shirt down to expose them to the chilly air and a thrill travels up her spine. She pinches one of her nipples, softly at first, then hard enough to twinge slightly, and bucks against her hand, her fingers drawing more urgent circles.

She drowns in his taste, his stubble scratching the back of her neck, his arms around her; his voice filters through her mind, her name barely audible, an amused tone, as if he can’t believe he’s touching her like this in the kitchen. She envisions him turning, lifting her onto the counter and opening her legs, and her mouth suddenly waters.

She groans weakly as she comes, heat flaring in her fingers and toes, a heady and exhausting tremor shaking her whole body. She rests against the counter, panting, hand still under her panties but finally unmoving. She keeps her eyes closed, unwilling to confront the reality that she is alone; she chases her breath, shivering, and slowly slips her hand up, sliding her fingers together to feel the slickness.

She exhales, shuddering, stunned by her own behavior; she chases the pounding heat between her legs for a moment, tonguing over her lips, eyes shifting under her lids. She’s never felt this out of control, this mindless and mesmerized, until she realizes that she came, for the first time in her life, thinking about him. Reality grips her again and her eyes open wide.

She hastily adjusts her shirt and scrambles to put cream in her coffee.

***

“Papaaaaaaa…”

Wolfgang turns over in bed at the noise, blinking and grumbling.

“Papa,” says Ella again. “Papa!”

Wolfgang opens his eyes reluctantly, immediately faced with a warty, struggling frog that his daughter has grasped in her tiny hands.

“Fuck, Ella,” he mumbles, sitting up quickly.

“I caught it!” she shouts.

He raises his brows. “Ella, did you go outside?”

She averts her gaze and shifts on her feet, a sure sign that she did. “Kind of.”

He buries his thumb and forefinger in his eyes and slides his legs off the bed, then points wearily towards the door. “Put it outside--”

“But--”

“Right now, you know you’re not allowed to go outside alone. Put it out and go to your room.”

“But -- but I --” She deflates, lowering the frog, and starts to cry. “But I caught it for y-you!”

His chest twinges at this; he knows she believes that her intention changes the rules, and he’s tempted to nod and reassure her, but then he pictures her alone on the sidewalk and fear flares up in him; this, as usual, transforms quickly into anger.

“Now!” he snaps.

She keeps crying, starting to lose her grip on the frog. He exhales, annoyed, then stands up and nudges her towards the door.

“You cannot go outside by yourself,” he says in a raised voice. “You know that.”

“I -- I,” she shakes her head rapidly, hiccuping. “S-stop yelling.”

He doesn’t move, struck by these words because he’s sure he said them himself at her age; he kneels down and touches her side apologetically, but she steps away, sobbing, and lets go of the frog. His eyes widen. He isn’t awake enough for her tears, or a loose amphibian.

“Ella--”

She gasps and cries harder. “Oh no...oh no! I’m sorry!” She falls back into a seated position, cheeks glowing red, and coughs. “I’m s-sorry…”

“Ella, Ella baby hey, hey,” he mumbles, then watches the frog hop sluggishly towards the baseboard heater.

He looks around, then seizes the empty cup on his bedside table and turns it over the frog. He huffs, successful, and looks back at Ella.

“Okay,” he says gently, shifting to sit against the bed; he squeezes Ella’s waist, then dries her tears with two brushes of his thumb. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, but you can’t go outside by yourself. You can never go outside by yourself.”

She continues to cry, stumbling, so he draws her close.

“Mausi, am I that scary? I’m sorry, hey…” He hugs her and kisses the side of her head. “Thank you for the frog…”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, snuggling into him.

He thumbs over her shoulder. “It’s alright.” Then he starts to laugh. “Why would I want a frog?”

“I don’t know!” she wails.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Listen, we’ll eat breakfast, and then we’ll go to the park, okay? But I think we should let the frog go first…”

“But I wanted you to keep it,” replies Ella, disgruntled.

“Well, frogs don’t like to be inside,” he tells her. “You should have read that.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs sadly, then gasps, pulls back, and says with bright eyes, “Bathtub!”

“No,” he laughs, wiping her tears again. “No baby, not the bathtub...he has friends outside, okay? He wants to go back outside.”

“It’s a girl,” says Ella stridently.

“She has friends outside,” he amends. “Maybe she has kids, too.”

“Tadpoles,” sighs Ella.

“Okay, tadpoles,” says Wolfgang, rolling his eyes affectionately; he expected to have a moment alone this morning to reflect on his kiss with Kala, but he sees now that was a foolish hope. He lets go of Ella and takes his phone from under his pillow, then takes a photo of the frog under the glass. He sends it to Kala, captioned I didn’t think this would be the first thing I would text you today, then tugs on one of Ella’s ears. “Breakfast?”

She shifts reluctantly, still sore from being yelled at, and mutters, “No.” She meets his eyes. “Cake?”

“You are such a shit,” he replies, turning her and sending her towards the door.

She turns her face over her shoulder and grins. He frowns at her and she quickly looks away, trotting faster towards the kitchen. He gets to his feet, folding his arms for a moment while he watches her, aware how soft he is once she starts crying -- he thinks, given how perceptive she is, that she’s aware of this too, but he doubts she uses this to her advantage; she cries easily, always has, and he sees this as a good thing; she feels deeply and he won’t criticize that.

“Eggs!” she yells, knocking into a kitchen chair.

“Okay,” he says, sliding a book under the glass with the frog, and heading for the door with it. He releases it along the gutter outside, shaking his head, then comes inside to open the fridge. He eyes Ella. “You...wash your hands.”

Ella looks down at her dirt-mottled palms, then wipes them on her nightgown.

“All done,” she says, looking up at him.

He breathes out through his nose, picks her up, and sets her on her stool in front of the sink.

“Why have you been so bad lately?” he inquires, looking in the fridge for eggs, finding none. “If it keeps happening, I’ll have to give you to a witch. And she’ll eat you.”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Witches aren’t real.”

“Okay, I’ll give you to cannibals,” says Wolfgang. “Those are real.”

“What are those?” asks Ella, fumbling with the soap dispenser.

“People who eat people,” he replies.

She wrinkles her nose, considering. Wolfgang watches, wondering how she will respond to something this bizarre, and she tilts her head. “People are too big to eat.”

“They cut them up,” Wolfgang assures her. “And you’re little so you’re tender. Like Wilbur.”

“No!” says Ella indignantly.

He starts to laugh, reflecting on what he just said, and hands her a cloth to dry her hands.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I won’t give you to cannibals. And…” He glances back into the fridge, which is bare. “...we’re out of everything, you want to go get something?”

She nods and hurries into her room. He gets ready quickly and waits for her to tie her shoes in the entryway, an activity she still struggles with. He glances through the window by the door, watching a street cleaner slide by, and his phone chimes.

_Kala, 8:06 -- I think you underestimated Ella’s zoology skills…_

He chuckles and replies: She’s upset I didn’t want to keep it.

_Kala, 8:07 -- I can’t stop thinking about last night._

Wolfgang holds his breath for a moment, absorbing the words; his hand goes slightly lax around his phone, and the hair on his neck stands up.

_Kala, 8:08 -- Can I see you today?_

_Wolfgang, 8:08 -- I work today. Tomorrow._

Kala types for a moment and he waits, but finds Ella looking up at him eager and impatient; he glances at her shoes and sees that she has merely tucked the laces into the tongue. He frowns and kneels by her.

“Have you been practicing this like you’re supposed to?” he asks her.

“Sometimes!” she replies, wiggling her foot; she tilts her head and reaches to pluck a hair off his shoulder, scrutinizing it. “Hm...”

He looks too at the dark, spiraling curl and raises his eyebrows; he realizes he’s wearing the same jacket he was last night, the same one he always wears, and he’s suddenly reminded of Kala’s taste and warmth, her quiet and hungry sounds. He inhales hard to prevent getting lost in images of her, then gently takes the strand of hair from Ella’s hand.

Ella’s eyes darken and her brow wrinkles.

“Yeah, you’re too smart,” Wolfgang tells her, and his phone chimes.

_Kala, 8:10 -- Tomorrow then :)_

_Wolfgang, 8:10 --_ _Tomorrow._ Then he adds, on instinct: _I miss you._

She types for a long time. He hopes she isn’t consulting friends.

_Kala, 8:11 -- I’ve missed you since last night._

He’s never admitted something like this to a girl, because he’s never felt it. He pockets his phone, reluctant to embrace this feeling -- it tugs at him uncomfortably, makes him feel incomplete. He hears his phone chime again but doesn’t reach for it, unwilling to see an even more affectionate statement, and chances a glance at Ella, who has occupied herself with a spot of dirt near the door.

“Ready?” he asks her.

She nods and tugs her mittens out of her pockets. He leans to reach for her book and magnifying glass on the huntboard and adds it to the backpack she has perched on her shoulders. She hangs on the doorknob until he turns it, and then she dashes along the railing and down the icy stairs.

“Ella Nastasia--” His words die on his lips. Telling her to slow down is pointless.

“Made it!” she yells from the bottom.

He breathes out, eyes flashing, and passes their elderly neighbor on the stairs, who chuckles lovingly and shakes her head. He quickly smiles and rolls his eyes, exchanging a frohe weihnachten, and joins Ella on the sidewalk. He looks at her intently and she blinks up at him, waiting. He takes her hand, tugging her in the direction of the nearest deli.

“What did you call me?” she asks.

He snorts. “Your name.” He glances at her. “Your middle name. Nastasia.”

She wrinkles her nose, trotting to keep up, and the wind whips her bulky hair into her face; she looks at him through the veil of curls with consternation.

“I’ve called you that before,” he says. “Only when you’re in trouble so you probably had other things on your mind--”

“What’s a middle name?” she mumbles.

“It’s just a...second name,” he replies, adding cautiously, “It’s what my mother was going to name my little sister. I gave it to you instead, because she…” He decides to tell as little truth as possible. “Because she would have wanted you to have it.”

Ella watches him, then looks ahead, kicking at a pebble.

He squeezes her hand. “Hey, you know what Felix’s middle name is?”

She brightens and shakes her head. He starts to chuckle.

“He hates it, listen to this,” he tells her. “Engelbert.”

Ella laughs and hurries again to keep up with his stride. “Englebert.”

“That’s right,” says Wolfgang, adding, “hey, promise me you’ll call him that when we get there. Can you remember it? What is it?”

“Englebert!” she crows.

He smirks, envisioning Felix’s face, and leans to pick up his daughter and plant her on his shoulders. She promptly covers his eyes and laughs and he grins helplessly.

“I can’t see!” he murmurs.

Ella laughs harder and kicks her feet gently.

“I hope I don’t walk into anything…” he goes on, holding her legs and shaking her feet playfully, finding his way on the sidewalk through feel.

Ella spreads her fingers accidentally and he peeks through.

“Oh, now I can see--”

She gasps and quickly cups her fingers so the world goes black again. He lets this continue until a passerby swears at him for walking on the incorrect side. He throws a middle finger in the air as he passes and Ella covers her mouth, giggling and scandalized.

“You shouldn’t know what that means,” says Wolfgang after a moment, but he doesn’t pursue it.

His phone chimes and he glances at it, forgetting he was avoiding Kala’s text, and sees it in his notifications.

_Kala 8:12 -- I dreamed about you, actually…_

His mouth goes abruptly dry and he breathes in. It’s wrong to leave her on “unread” after a text like that, but he sweeps his thumb to the right to clear the notification, then looks at Felix’s text below.

_Felix, 8:22 -- what park what time why didn’t you respond to my text last night I’m wandering around the fucking community garden like a creep_

_Wolfgang, 8:33 -- You are a creep._

_Wolfgang, 8:33 -- Volkspark like always. Need breakfast?_

_Felix, 8:34 -- uh fucking duh_

Wolfgang pockets his phone and sets Ella down before walking into a small deli. She runs up to the glass case, peering in at the cheeses, meats, and olives. Wolfgang hangs back for a moment, watching her move to the right, stretching on her toes to look at the rose and apricot petit-fours, the wavy icing atop cake slices, the glistening cherries on cupcakes marked six euros. She presses her mittened hands to the glass, cocking her head in interest, then slips quietly behind the counter.

He steps forward to collect her, but a plump, pregnant woman smiles and shoos her back towards him.

“Es tut mir leid…”

She shakes her head. “What would she like?”

He shakes his head too. “No, that’s okay--”

“That one!” shouts Ella, pointing at a slice of dark chocolate cake with bright white icing and a strawberry fan on the top.

Wolfgang takes her shoulder and pulls her back, taking out his wallet. “Three Milchbrötchen.”

“Papa,” she sighs.

He counts the bills in his wallet and pats her side. “That’s all.”

The woman watches and says after a moment, glancing at the insignia on his shirt, “My sister was in a fire last year. You got her out.”

“There’s a lot of us,” he says without looking up, counting his money.

“No, I remember,” she muses, collecting the sweet rolls and dispensing them in a bag. “She described you. Said you mentioned your daughter when she didn’t want to get up from the floor. Said you talked her into it because she had a daughter too.”

His fingers falter around the bills. He remembers. All fires blend in their details; the smoke obscures not only the surroundings at the time, but any hope of recalling a specific event, a particular victim. The experiences are gray. But now, as Ella leans on his legs and looks longingly at the colors and textures before her, he remembers a phrase.

Ella. Her favorite color is yellow. What about your daughter? What’s hers?

“Her daughter’s favorite color is purple,” he murmurs.

“It is you,” says the woman, chuckling.

He nods, a faint smile touching his cheeks. “Guess so.”

“Papa,” says Ella, impatient.

“Thank you,” the woman says, carefully bagging a slice of cake and handing it over. She glances at Ella, softens, and adds, “Oh, what a lucky girl. I’m sure you’re a good father.” Then she laughs and looks him over. “I’d say your wife is lucky too.”

He laughs too, unable to help it, and shakes his head. He pays for the rolls -- she gives him back far too much change -- and he coaxes Ella back onto the frosty street.

“You got cake,” he tells her, turning onto Landsberger Allee, skirting a bike and a delivery truck; he tugs her arm up to pull her over a high curb. “Like you wanted. And it was free.”

“Who’s your wife?” asks Ella.

He laughs. “I don’t have one.”

“Why not?” she asks, unduly exasperated by a concept she doesn’t understand.

“You sound like Felix,” he jokes, adding, “because you...have to feel a certain way about someone to be their husband or wife. You have to date them, and fall in love with them, and decide you want to spend the rest of your life with them.”

“So why did that lady--”

“Because most guys who have kids have a wife or husband or someone important,” he explains. “She just assumed.”

“So why don’t you?” asks Ella.

He helps her around a patch of ice. “Now you sound like Will.” He smiles to himself and nudges her up a short set of steps into the park; they walk across a grassy expanse full of geese. “I don’t because I want to wait for the right person.” He can practically hear Will’s protesting groan at this explanation. He breathes in. “That’s not true. I’ve never thought it was important, never wanted it, and I’ve never been good at it.”

“At what?” queries Ella.

“Being with someone,” he replies.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because people are complicated, and spending all your time with one person who’s different than you means you need a lot of patience,” he explains, adding quietly as he thinks of his future with Kala, “And you know I don’t have that.” He spots Felix near a bench, holding two coffees, and nudges Ella. “Do you remember?”

She nods, tugging her hand out of Wolfgang’s grip and running forward to greet her uncle. Wolfgang hangs back, watching as Ella belts out “HI ENGELBERT.” Felix looks at Wolfgang, scowling, and flips him off in a world-weary way. Wolfgang returns the gesture and Felix sets the coffees on the bench to pick up Ella. Wolfgang joins them and takes one of the coffees.

“You had to tell her,” grumps Felix.

“Not my fault your mother named you that,” replies Wolfgang, drinking his coffee.

“Yeah, because your name is so fucking normal,” says Felix. “And don’t tempt me. I’ll go back to calling you Sasha, fucking lady’s name--”

“Extremely common in Russia, fuck off--”

“Sasha, might as well wear pink--”

“Okay, Engelbert--”

Ella giggles and Felix squeezes her. “Tell him to shut up, okay? Sasha....”

“Sasha,” repeats Ella.

“It’s diminutive for my middle name,” says Wolfgang, rolling his eyes before murmuring, “My mom called me that and Felix thought it was funny.”

“My middle name is,” Ella starts, excited, then frowns. “Papa, what is it?”

He laughs. “Nastasia.”

“That’s too hard to say,” she complains.

“Nah-stah-see-ya,” he says slowly.

“No,” she says simply, kneeing Felix so he lets her down.

She reaches up for the bag of rolls and cake and Wolfgang hands it to her; she sits contentedly on the bench nearby, taking a fork from the bag and popping open the container of cake. Felix glances at this, raises his brows, and turns back to Wolfgang.

“Only fair, she didn’t get any yesterday,” says Felix.

Wolfgang doesn’t hear him; his gaze lingers on Ella and he mumbles, “I told her she’s named that for my sister.”

“Oh, fuck, man--”

Wolfgang shakes his head and interrupts. “I didn’t say anything else. I’m not going to.”

Felix looks at him in surprise. “Ever? She’s going to ask.”

“I don’t know,” says Wolfgang softly, adding with a humorless laugh, “It’s…”

“...too much,” agrees Felix, just as quiet. He shakes his head. “Fuck. Hey, thanks for breakfast.”

Wolfgang nods, relaxing slightly, and drinks his coffee to ward off the cold. He’s only now starting to feel awake, and while he craves a moment to himself to think about Kala, he suspects the day won’t give that to him. He tries to put her from his mind, focusing on his weaknesses rather than her warmth, on the improbability of their relationship lasting rather than her gentle voice and her laugh like church bells.

“Yeah, thanks for the coffee,” he mumbles. “What time is it?”

“We’ve got a half hour,” says Felix, adding as he glances at Wolfgang, “Hey? You okay? I thought you’d be…” He lets out all his breath. “I don’t know, Wolfie, fucking...happy, today. Okay? Aren’t you and Kala…”

“I don’t know yet,” he says, though the memory of the kiss pulls at him like a riptide.

“You’re fucking impossible,” says Felix, drinking his coffee and shaking his head. “You seemed pretty cozy yesterday. Don’t fuck it up...she’s fucking hot and funny and she knows how to take care of kids--”

“That’s not why I like her,” Wolfgang says flatly.

“Who?” chirps Ella.

He looks at her -- a face full of icing and cake crumbs -- and he relents. He knows it’s a risk to admit this, but he wants to share it with her.. “Your teacher, mausi. I want to be her boyfriend.”

“What’s that?” asks Ella, licking some strawberry sauce from her palm.

Ella gasps eagerly and wipes her mouth on her sleeve. “Is she going to live with us?”

He laughs at the simplistic question, but then he smiles and drinks his coffee. “Hope so.”

***

Kala slowly paces her living room, her phone gripped in her hand, sure it was inappropriate to tell him she dreamed of him. She is still in her pajamas, shivering, her coffee held close for comfort; she feels, somehow, that she gave altogether too much to him by texting that, by touching herself, though he doesn’t know about the latter. She considers calling Dani, but quickly decides against it, sure that Dani will laugh off masturbation as a daily activity and fail to understand why this first time, this only time, meant what it did. She considers Lito and Hernando, but decides Lito will be too excited and Hernando will be too academic.

So she calls her sister, shaky fingers on the display, collapsing on the couch in a heap under two blankets, hugging a pillow.

“Kala!” says Daya happily. “Hi, hold on, let me put you on speaker...I’m making lunch…” The phone crackles and Daya continues, “Okay, hi, how are you?”

“Are -- are you by yourself?” checks Kala.

“Yes,” says Daya cautiously, and Kala hears her set a pan down. “Are you alright?”

“I -- have -- have you ever been attracted to someone and, um, touched yourself?”

Daya doesn’t answer for a moment, but then she cooes gleefully, “Oooh, Kala. Was this about -- what’s his name? The dad?”

“He kissed me,” whispers Kala, and then the words spill from her like liquid sugar. “I kissed him back, I -- I would have slept with him if we were alone. I think I --” She stops herself. “Daya, I want to be with him and I know he wants to be with me but he -- he sleeps with so many women, I...I don’t think I’m just part of the pattern but how can I know?”

Daya breathes out. “The worst that can happen...is you have your heart broken. But it won’t break you. I think it’s worth it.”

“Why would I…” She lowers her voice as if someone is listening in. “Why would I give myself to him like that? If he’s just going to….”

“You aren’t giving anything, Kala, you aren’t losing anything,” says Daya gently.

“It’s different for me,” replies Kala. “I’ve never felt this way. He would be the only man I’ve ever wanted that with, and if he leaves, I…” She breathes in. “I know I’m not part of the pattern, I do, but he’s so guarded, he’s so distant sometimes and...well, I feel if we’re together I’ll be the first woman he’s admitted anything to and I think he’ll run because that’s too hard for him, knowing someone else knows what only he used to know…”

“Yeah,” sighs Daya. “Well, listen dove, love’s messy like that. It never ends cleanly. We always leave parts of ourselves and take parts of the other person with us. There’s no avoiding that. But if it’s good at the time...you can’t ask for more.” She pauses. “I said this before but I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like you talk about him.”

“I feel like a fraud,” says Kala with soft bitterness. “I told myself I couldn’t love anyone because I never did love anyone but he -- he didn’t change me, nothing like that, that would be silly -- but he’s...he’s it, Daya.” She breathes out hard. “Oh, God.” She sniffles. “He’s the only person I’ve ever felt this close to. And I barely know him.”

Daya hums. “You know him well enough if you feel like that…”

“No,” Kala laugh-cries, sitting up. “No. I can feel this way without understanding him at all, and I’m sure that I don’t.”

Daya sighs in concession. “Then it’s what I said. The worst that will happen is you lose him, and you’ll think you’re dying, but come live with me, walk around Priyadarshini, let him fade. You won’t be sorry you loved him. I don’t understand regret, really…”

Kala laughs again and sniffles. “Well, bless you, but I do. And you will too someday.”

Daya laughs too. “I know I’m your little sister and I know I’m dumb but I’m the one who has been in love. Kala...you…” She exhales loudly. “You can’t let this go. What if it’s something?”

“I thought I wanted to be alone,” whispers Kala. “But I think I just wanted to be myself, and I can be with him.” She breathes in deeply, moisture dripping down her throat while she tries not to cry. “My expectations are too high, Daya, I -- I want everything with him--”

“Then want everything and lose it,” says Daya firmly. “I promise it won’t kill you. And if you do get everything, well, you never could have gotten it without risking the opposite…”

“Shut up,” teases Kala, stuffed up. “Stop being right.”

Daya laughs, cooking sounds clattering in the background. Kala sniffles again.

“So,” asks Daya. “Did you come?”

“Daya,” murmurs Kala, adding quietly, “yes.”

“Oh, you are sooo fucked!” whispers Daya. “Ooh, no! Has that ever happened--”

“Goodbye, silly,” says Kala.

“Kala, I love you,” says Daya earnestly, and she replies with just as much heart.

She slumps on the couch, quietly chuckling, thumbing her phone and wishing she had her little sister in her arms to hug and kiss obnoxiously. Then she glances down at herself, just a body with needs, and smiles at her breasts, at the way her thighs kiss. She’s never been comfortable with being wanted; she’s never wanted to undress and press her curves to a man’s edges, but now she does, and she isn’t afraid.

She smiles wider, hugging her knees close for warmth, and then she hurries to her room for a long sweater and socks. She makes tea with extra honey and sinks back onto the couch, hand instinctively on her phone, and she thinks of him.

***

Wolfgang tugs his sweater over his head and reaches for his station-issued tee, which is folded on his bunk next to a dog-eared copy of _Blood Meridian_ and a stack of mail, which he has delivered here instead of to his apartment due to the gang of teens that raid the postal boxes in his lobby for credit card information. He lingers on the mail for a moment, considering moving to a better neighborhood, a daily thought that always ends in the admission that he can’t afford it. He quickly sorts the mail, tosses most of it out, and glances down at a small bandage on his side which has come loose from changing clothes.

He presses it back into place, then looks up at Will, who’s stuck his head into the dorm.

“Two things,” he says, “the department wants to use a picture of you on a billboard, and Schmidt is retiring.”

“Already?” jokes Wolfgang, then wrinkles his nose. “Wait, they want to use a what of me?”

“A picture of you. On some ads in the U-Bahn. Did you hear me about Schmidt retiring?”

Wolfgang looks at him, nonplussed, waiting.

“It means a spot opened up,” explains Will. “For Unit Leader.”

Wolfgang frowns. “So?”

“I want you to do it,” says Will.

Wolfgang shakes his head. “I’d need a degree--”

“I know, but there’s funds for guys who want to go to night school, four nights a week. Ella can stay here those nights.” He pauses, tense. “Wolfgang, the pay’s twice what you make right now.”

Wolfgang doesn’t move for a moment, considering, and then he looks down with a tight jaw. He breathes out of his nose, annoyed. “I can’t leave Ella here four nights a week.”

“Just think about it--”

“Just did.” He puts on his shirt and shores up the red plaid blanket on his bunk. He feels Will’s gaze lingering on him. “Anything else?”

“Decide by Monday,” says Will quietly, patting the doorframe and leaving.

Wolfgang looks up as he disappears from sight and feels a twinge of guilt for dismissing this idea so quickly, but he’s unwilling to let the other firefighters raise Ella more than they already have. He clears off his bunk, teeth still clenched, and goes into the kitchen for coffee, where he finds Felix acting out a scene from Die Hard for Ella. He stops abruptly.

“Hey, congratulations--”

“Not taking the job,” interrupts Wolfgang, filling his mug.

Felix deflates. “What? Fuck man, why? Getting a degree won’t kill you, and it’s paid for--”

“Have a kid, then tell me why you think this is a good idea,” replies Wolfgang. “I barely see her as is.”

Felix slowly raises his eyebrows, swishing his coffee around his mouth. “Maybe Kala could watch her those nights. Bet she wouldn’t mind…”

“Right,” says Wolfgang with a cold laugh, going for the stairs and adding, “one of the engines has a flat, get off your ass.”

He spends the next twenty minutes berating Felix for not knowing how to fix a flat -- “My father never taught me this, Wolfie!”, “You think mine did? Lazy sack of shit--”, “You need a fucking attitude adjustment--”, “I’m going to hit you with this tire iron--” -- and stops only when Ella appears next to them, eager to help. She offers to hold the giant, heavy tire, so Wolfgang holds the weight but lets her think she’s the one doing the work.

“I told you I’m strong!” she says, beaming at him.

“Sure are,” he agrees, smiling.

He helps her put the tire back into place and Felix struggles to affix the lugnuts back where they belong. He kneels behind Ella and explains how they keep the tire in place, and she leans sleepily on him, yawning, and then giggles at nothing.

“Yeah, this is why you don’t normally get cake for breakfast,” he tells her, hugging her before standing up and swinging her by her arms.

She laughs gleefully and socks Felix in the face with her foot, then gasps. Felix glowers at Wolfgang, who continues to swing Ella, moving her closer; he gives into a laugh and protects his head with his arms while Ella pummels him. He slowly sinks to the floor, eventually on his stomach, defeated.

“You got me! You got me, I’m dead--”

Will’s voice echoes down the stairs. “How long does it take to change a tire?”

Wolfgang sets Ella down and exchanges a glance with Felix; they begin to pack up the toolbox. The rest of the morning passes without incident. Ella sleeps with her arm off Wolfgang’s bunk, snoring, worn out from the park and the sugar megadose. Wolfgang reads next to her for a while, absently thumbing the bottom of her foot, distracting himself from job prospects and Kala’s text, still unanswered. When this fails, he gets up to lift weights.

He’s nearly through his sets when a soft voice startles him. He looks up, sweat dripping over his brow, and inhales hard at the sight of Kala. She’s standing before him in a soft leather jacket and boots, clutching a paper bag. He worries for a moment that she came here to confront him for not answering her text, but sees that she’s smiling and relaxes.

He quickly grabs a towel, wipes his brow, and tosses it over his bare shoulder. He sees Kala bite her lip and flush.

“I -- I should have said I was coming -- I was nearby so I...brought you some lunch,” she explains, extending the bag hopefully. “I--”

Felix walks by the door and shouts, “Put a shirt on, slut!” before disappearing.

Kala’s eyes widen and Wolfgang looks down, unable to keep from laughing.

“I’m sorry,” he says gently, taking the bag from her. “He’s--”

“Shh,” says Kala, stretching to kiss him hello.

She pulls away with sparkling eyes, heated, and he breathes out slowly, lost in her gaze and swept under by the unexpected intensity.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you,” he murmurs.

She shakes her head and slides her hands up his arms. “You’re busy.” Then she inhales. “And sweaty.” A pause, a horrified, abashed flicker in her eyes; she pulls her hands away and hugs herself, then lifts her chin to appear poised. “Kaesespaetzle.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Kaesespaetzle. Is what I brought you. I hope you like it.”

He studies her plum-colored lips -- slightly bunched due to nerves -- her thin, neat brows -- very wrinkled -- and her eyes, clouded with concern.

“Relax,” he says gently, sliding his hand down her side and setting the bag on a table nearby. He grabs his shirt and puts it on, but she stops him when he goes to tug it over the last inch of his abs. She touches the bandage on his side with a worried look, and his nerves jump with anticipation. He swallows. “Just nicked something on a run the other day.”

“Mm,” she says, eyes fixed down, fingers pressing slightly harder.

He gets the sense she wants him to fuck her stupid in the bathroom nearby, and the idea sends a hot chill through him, but he doesn’t dare suggest it; he knows he shouldn’t hope or imagine that she feels what he does, and he reminds himself he’ll have to develop patience and restraint if he wants her to stay with him.

He forces himself to breathe. She pulls her touch away and lets the shirt fall to fully cover him, then looks up into his eyes. He swears he sees a hungry gleam and he drags his thumb from her temple to the bump in her jaw.

“You were nearby?” he checks.

She shakes her head so her nose tickles his. “No, I said that to feel less embarrassed about bringing you lunch.”

He glances down, holding her close, and mumbles, “My girlfriend can bring me lunch whenever she wants.”

She doesn’t speak, but her breath stops and she grips his arms. He smirks, suddenly playful, and kisses her quickly.

She laughs, then asks quietly, “Your girlfriend? Who decided that?”

He laughs too, then looks down again, overwhelmed. “What else would I call you?”

She softens but continues to play. “Your daughter’s teacher…”

He slides his hands down her back and brings her closer. She wraps her arms around his neck and stares into his eyes, finally steady.

“Do you mean it?” she asks him.

He nods solemnly, though he didn’t expect to say this to her today, though he’s never placed importance on a label like this. She grins and melts into another kiss; he breathes in her jasmine hair and groans quietly at the warmth of her lips, fighting the urge to move his hands lower to feel the curve of her ass. He’s easily turned on, he knows that, but Kala kindles something more.

“Good,” she says as she pulls away, nose wrinkling in mirth.

They kiss again, more briefly, then look at each other; he wants to wake up to her face every morning, hold her in the kitchen while they make coffee, kiss her too many times when they part for work, hunger for her all day and feel complete only when she’s in his arms again that night. He wants to tell her this, but he doesn’t know how; he’s never contemplated saying something so earnest and intimate, let alone saying it aloud.

She plays with the border of his stubble just under his cheekbone. “Wolfgang?”

He inhales and closes his eyes as if praying to her. She lets her touch track over his lips. He sees her in his future as an almost, as a memory that refuses to fade; he fears she will always be the woman who never was, the one woman who could love him if he had only given her the chance. He hopes that he is not the same for her.

He knows he isn’t worthy of her, and he senses she feels that she isn’t worthy of him either; nothing could be more untrue, but the way she clings to him is almost pleading. I want you to want me since no one ever has. He realizes his grip on her is similar, but unlike her, he doesn’t deserve to be wanted or loved; he barely deserves to be put up with. But he recalls her words. Maybe we aren’t so different. He decides they’ll weather the storm together.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

She breathes out and he feels it on his lips.

“I called my sister today,” she says, and he can tell she is sharing something she never intended to. “And she told me...the worst that can happen is we lose each other...and of course that’s all we can think of. But the best could happen, too.”

He opens his eyes to find her watching him, cautious.

“What’s the point of thinking about that?” he asks.

“What’s the point of thinking about anything else?” she replies.

He smiles slightly and tucks her hair away. Her lips twitch as she fights a smile, but it bursts forth helplessly.

“What?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand you.”

“You don’t have to,” she murmurs, adding with another joyful wrinkle of her nose, “Yet.”

“Okay,” he laughs, and she grins before his lips find hers again.

***

  
That night, Wolfgang sits on the couch with a glass of whiskey and his guitar on his lap; he stares into the flames of the woodstove, inhaling and letting the liquor just touch his tongue as he plays A, E, Cm...there’s a world, outside my doorstep...the lyrics from the old album Kala was playing last week crash over him as he strums. It’s late, and he’s too tired to be awake, but sleep evaded him when he laid down. There is nothing left but to be with her, and he realizes he was more comfortable in his own quiet company, more at ease with the hypothetical.

He strikes another A chord and reminds himself that what he’s uncomfortable with has always been right. Felix, the nosy, talkative outsider, now his brother. Ella, the accident, now his guiding star. A single moment determined his love for Felix and for Ella -- a desperate, stupid fight in a rainy ditch, and the first night in the hospital. But a single moment did not determine his love for Kala, because she isn’t as simple as a brother or a child; she is a choice.

He shifts his chords to another song, one his mother would hum when she was cleaning, finding the notes through memory and ear. He moves down an octave to hum to it like she would, but looks up to see Ella, who is crying.

He brings her into his lap and hugs her.

“Hey,” he murmurs, shifting the guitar aside. “Bad dream?”

She nods hard.

“What was it about?” he asks.

She sniffles and shakes her head against his chest.

“Okay,” he says softly, cradling her close her like he did when she was tiny. She sniffles into him and instantly relaxes, then snortles. He smiles at this and starts to rub her back.

“Papa!” she says brightly after a moment. “I love you.”

He laughs. “I love you, mausi.” He lifts her against his shoulder and she tucks her face into his cheek, wet with snot. He kisses her temple. “I’ve got you, it’s okay…”

She nods again and clings. He’s reminded of the interminable nights when she was an infant, coaxing her to drink formula which she invariably spit up and cried about. He hugs her closer and she starts to drowse. Then a shot rings out a block down, and he sits up with a start, his arms closing protectively around his daughter.

“What was that?” gasps Ella with fascination.

He hushes her and listens for a sound at the door. Another shot rings and a siren starts, and he cradles Ella’s head with one hand; he uses the other to click open the child-proof lock on the side table and holds his pistol in the drawer, keeping it out of sight. Another shot. He considers the distant possibility that Sergei or Steiner broke out; he knows they would come directly here. He holds Ella closer and glances around the living room for evidence that a child lives here. He could tell her to hide in her room and cover her ears; he could stash her toys in the closet and rip her drawings off the fridge. He doubts they know about her. They never can.

He registers the ragged couch they’re on, the faulty wood stove. He considers the trash and graffiti outside their door. Twice the pay.

“Ell,” he murmurs cautiously. “How would you like to spend four nights at the station with the guys?”

“Papa, what was that?” she repeats.

“A gunshot,” he replies. “What do you think, mausi? Four nights?”

She shrugs against him. “Why?”

“Because I think I should go to school,” he tells her.

She laughs. “You’re old.”

“School for adults,” he tells her with a smile. “Would you be too lonely?”

“No,” she says quietly, snuggling closer and adding, “stop squeezing.”

He relaxes his grip on her. “Sorry.” He kisses her head. “I don’t like gunshots.”

He watches the flickering of the woodstove for a moment, red lights swirling and flashing through the window as the police speed by.

“Why?” she asks.

“That’s your favorite word, isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Hearing shots means something bad is happening.”

“Always?” she asks.

He laughs. “Yeah. Always.”

“What about the police?” she goes on. “The police are good.”

“I thought I raised you to have a more radical take,” he jokes.

She pulls back and looks at him intently, frowning. He smooths the wrinkles on her brow.

“You look like a shar-pei--”

“A sharpie?” she says indignantly.

“No, one of those ugly dogs,” he tells her, bopping her nose. Her frown only increases and he laughs. “Or a pug. With the squished nose.”

“I don’t have a squished nose!” she yells.

“No,” he agrees, pinching it. “You have my nose. Lucky bastard.”

“That’s not a nice word,” she says.

“No, but it’s accurate,” he tells her, starting to laugh. He relaxes as the sirens fade and looks at her more solemnly after a moment. He settles her on his lap and tucks her wiry hair behind both of her ears. “I wish I had more time, but I don’t mausi.”

She shrugs, then brightens and says, “You need a time-turner!”

He looks at her. “A what?”

She rolls her eyes and bolts off of him to her room. He relinquishes his grip on his pistol and shuts the drawer, waiting as the wind wobbles the pane of the window next to the couch. She returns with a book in her hands and sits next to him, beginning to flip through it. She hands him the book after a moment and he reads what she points at.

_I’ve been turning it back so I could do hours over again, that’s how I’ve been doing several lessons at once, see?_

“See, you can do time over again,” explains Ella. “That’s how they saved Buckbeak.”

“Buckbeak,” he murmurs. “You’ve been reading this?” He glances over the complexity of the prose. “By yourself?”

“Luna helps me when I ask,” she says. “She gave me all of them!”

“Which one are you on?” he asks.

“Four, but it’s really long,” she tells him.

He smiles and closes the book. “Well, I wish I had one of those. I could change a lot.”

She shakes her head earnestly. “No! You can’t.”

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“Changing the past is dangerous,” she whispers. “Because -- because what if -- papa what if you changed something tiny but it changed everything?”

“Yeah, it’s the smallest things,” he agrees. He shakes his head faintly. “If your mother didn’t need directions one day, you wouldn’t exist.”

“And you have to hide from you,” she goes on excitedly. “You can’t see you in the past or you...you go crazy!”

“Yeah, I imagine,” he laughs.

“So they hid behind pumpkins,” she says, nodding, adding, “Luna says I’m like Hermione but I think I’m like Harry.”

He recalls the movies, which Felix made him watch in one “butterbeer”-fueled night into morning. “Harry’s a dumbass, you’re definitely like Hermione--”

“But no one likes her,” complains Ella.

“Fuck being liked,” he tells her. “You’re smart and you save the day. You think they’d be okay without her?”

Ella reflects, then tilts her head. “No.”

“That’s right,” he mumbles, pulling her closer. “Want me to read you a chapter?”

She nods and runs from the room again to get the next book. She hands it to him and he sees she’s used a leaf as a bookmark. He shakes his head affectionately at this and begins to read.

“Harry got up on Sunday morning and dressed so inattentively that it was a while before he realized he was trying to pull his hat onto his foot instead of his sock--” He pauses and grins. “Yeah, I relate--”

“Keep reading!” grumps Ella.

“Should I do accents?” he asks her. “Look, this guy is named Karkaroff, I can do Russian for you.”

“Just read,” says Ella, snuggling into his side.

He takes a sip of whiskey and says with an exaggerated and feminine English accent. “Let's just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening!”  
“Papa!” she laughs, kicking him.

“Okay,” he laughs, relenting, and he reads to her softly until she snores.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kala and Wolfgang talk at the Christmas party. Ella still can't tie her shoes.

Wolfgang waits near the fire, sipping slowly on a frothy winter ale, and glances at the entrance to the stairs.

The station is brimming with friends and family of the other firefighters; Riley’s father and two other musicians are warming up in the kitchen, chuckling and adding jazzy twangs to _Santa Baby_ , which everyone asked them not to play. Ella and Luna are occupied under the table that’s piled with appetizers, “playing reindeers” as Ella put it. She’s wearing fuzzy antlers and has a scarlet nose (a dot of Riley’s lipstick, stolen from her pocket and applied in the bathroom by Luna.) Wolfgang jokingly called her Rudolph, only to be faced with indignation and informed that any reindeer can have a red nose. He didn’t care enough to correct her, but he frowned slightly when she reared her head and whinnied like a horse.

“You know they don’t sound like that,” he said.

She put her hands up to her temples and fluttered her fingers, sticking her tongue out, but darted out of sight before he could respond.

He glances at her again to see she hasn’t caused trouble. Then his eyes find the door, impatient to see Kala walk through it. It’s three minutes past when she said she would arrive. He exhales, eyes flashing, body tense and tingling slightly. He’s never experienced this kind of anticipation; he finds himself craving her gaze as much as her touch and he drinks his beer needily, unsettled by this. The party continues around him, as interesting to him as the buzz of traffic.

He’s just given up on the idea of waiting for her here, about to refresh his beer and check on his daughter, when the door to the stairs opens and Kala pushes through it, wearing a stylish wool coat, her hair rain-speckled. Her eyes find his before she’s even stepped into the den, and he freezes as she does. He finds himself instantly beyond breath at the sight of her, and the rebellious voice in his mind that exists to refute his characteristic doubt and apathy rises to a shout. _She’s the only one you’ll ever want again._

Her lips tremble as she smiles, forcing herself forward; she hangs her coat on the rack by the door, revealing a silvery sweater dress that hugs her figure just loosely enough to require his imagination. She reaches him with the scent of vanilla on her skin, big red lips and shimmering hoops in her ears. He drinks her in, unblinking, brow soft, and she stretches close; he expects a kiss, but she kisses the side of his mouth instead, shy around so many people.

“Hi,” she whispers. “Merry Christma--”

He tugs her by her waist into a real kiss and feels her jump then soften against him; she opens her mouth just enough for him to taste her, and his hands grip her sides instinctively tighter. He pulls away sooner than he’d like to and finds her bright-eyed and deep pink.

“Hi,” he returns coolly.

She swallows and slides her hands over his shoulders, silent, and he likes to think he took her breath away.

“You look gorgeous,” he goes on, raising his brows slightly and running his thumb along her ear.

She blinks and breathes in, smiling now, and then looks down; she tugs on his crisp collar and murmurs, “Thank you.” She glances up. “Am I terribly late?”

He nods. “I almost left.”

“Wolfgang,” she says, grinning and shoving him gently.

He holds her closer and they laugh together, relaxing into each other.

“You look nice too,” she says with a warm flash in her eyes.

He rubs his hand over his three-day stubble. “Right.”

She laughs again and shakes her head. “No, I…” She thumbs over his lips and down his chin, studying him with such affection that he stiffens. “I like it.”

“You do?” he asks in earnest surprise, unable to tease her when she looks at him like that.

She nods and smiles. “I do.”

He tucks her hair over her shoulder; he wants to escape the intensity of her gaze, yet drown in it, and finds himself unsure what to say. This alone unnerves him enough that he simply mumbles, “Do you want a drink?”

She nods again, then kisses him quickly, keeping her eyes on his.

“Eggnog,” she breathes on his mouth.

He kisses her again and nods, reluctant to let go of her so soon after she got here, smiling more openly than he intended to so early in the night.

“Okay,” he murmurs, squeezing her waist before pulling away.

He goes to the table with drinks and food, keeping his gaze averted so he doesn’t catch Felix or Will eyeing him with an expression he’ll want to hit them for. He’s just ladled a glass of eggnog from a bowl when he feels a soft touch on his arm.

“That looks like it’s going well…” says Riley, just a hint of humor in her voice.

He doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“She’s clearly in love with you,” Riley goes on.

Wolfgang silently takes a beer.

“She is,” grumbles Riley, stuffing a spinach-cheese-wheel into her mouth. “We can watch Ella later. You know, if you want to come down Kala’s chimney tonight…”

Wolfgang chokes slightly on his beer and can’t help laughing. He stares at her, eyes wide and horrified.

Riley tilts her head, unapologetic, and sips her cider. “I thought I’d make a Christmas pun. It was a pretty good one, right?”

“No,” he says flatly, walking away, but he laughs again just before she breaks their glance and she grins. He shakes his head and reaches Kala, flushed. He presses the eggnog into her hand, then glances down and drinks his beer. “Try to ignore what any of them say to you tonight.”

“I like them,” she murmurs, smiling. “They’re good for you.”

He shakes his head and looks into her eyes. “You’re good for me.”

She inhales audibly and her eyes soften, inky yet warm. “I hope so.”

She raises her glass feebly and touches it to his, then drinks. She glances around and waves with a smile at someone, and he turns to see Riley. Riley winks devilishly at him, then innocently kisses the side of Will’s head and takes Sonia from him.

“They’re so sweet,” says Kala, grinning softly. “How long have they been together?”

“Ten years,” replies Wolfgang.

“Oh, they had Luna before that?” wonders Kala.

“They got married when Riley was pregnant,” says Wolfgang.

“That’s beautiful,” replies Kala, softening, adding with a smile, “God, last night, I thought my sister was going to tell me she was pregnant, because she called at eleven and told me I wouldn’t believe what her boyfriend did to her, which is...exactly how she would present being pregnant.”

“But he broke up with her,” guesses Wolfgang.

“Yes,” sighs Kala. “So she’s coming to visit me next week.” She frowns. “I don’t think she is particularly upset. She moves on from things quite quickly which is impossible for me to understand, but I’m glad for her…”

“They weren’t serious?” asks Wolfgang.

“No, they were, fairly,” admits Kala. “In fact I --” She breathes in. “I asked her advice, about you, because I thought she would understand.”

“Oh, so we’re serious,” he jokes.

“I--” Kala turns a delicate shade of peach and drinks her eggnog. “No. She’s my sister and I...haven’t felt like this before.”

“I’m giving you shit,” he reassures her. Her eyes flicker in annoyance, so he touches her side and brings her close. “Sorry, babe.”

She looks down. “No, that was a stupid thing to say--”

“I am serious about you,” he interrupts, adding with a gentle laugh, “I want to...dance with you in my kitchen at three in the morning.”

She breathes in and curls her fingers against his chest, asking faintly, “Where did that come from?”

He looks down, heated, sweat starting on his brow. He doesn’t know.

“Wolfgang?” she asks more insistently.

He wonders briefly how many euphemisms for I love you he will voice to her before he finds the courage to say the real words. He shakes his head, then presses a soft kiss to her brow; he lingers here until she clings to him, and when he pulls away, he finds her eyes sparkling with tears.

“Really?” he says, but he’s barely teasing. He wipes his thumb under the eye that’s collected a droplet and she laughs at herself.

“You don’t know what it’s like to hear something like that,” she explains, sniffling. She drinks her eggnog and gives a watery smile, shaking her head. “You don’t…”

“Well, it’s just for you,” he murmurs.

She laughs tearfully again and bumps her nose on his. “Good.” Then she pulls back and says with a mixture of delight and horror, “My sister will say incredibly indecent things to you, so you may want to vacation next week.”

“Can’t wait,” he says, smirking.

“No, you don’t understand. I was the responsible one but not because I tried to be. She has always been this firework of a person. And I love fireworks, but you don’t particularly want one to go off right next to you.”

“You don’t think I’m used to that?” he mutters, referring to Felix.

She grins. “Good point.”

They speak softly for an hour, discussing friends, Ella, the rain, God, chocolate, the U-Bahn, frogs, and the best side of the bed to sleep on, both adamant about the left. Kala drinks eggnog and gets progressively soft and prone to laughter, holding him; he loses the room around him, the world now a pair of dark brown eyes and a slender hand on his chest. The music drifts into Bach and Debussy and they hear Riley halfheartedly shout at her father for straying from Christmas songs.

Felix yells a moment later, and a champagne cork whizzes across the room and -- by the sound of it -- hits Will. Kala and Wolfgang laugh helplessly together, and a moment later Felix comes by with two glasses. Kala takes hers with a smile, but Wolfgang regards him warily.

“That was, like, an inch off from Will’s eye, can’t believe he hasn’t fired me yet,” mentions Felix, adding, “that’s why you got promoted, by comparison, I’m a fucking mess. So don’t feel too proud. There weren’t a lot of options.” He looks at Kala as she sips her champagne. “If you’re secretly a golddigger, things are looking the fuck up for you.”

Kala looks at Wolfgang affectionately. “I don’t mind him a bit rough around the edges.”

“Yeah, literally, can’t you shave for a fucking party?” asks Felix, gesturing at Wolfgang.

Wolfgang smirks. “She likes that too.”

Felix points, drinks, and ardently says, “Didn’t need that image.” He walks away. Kala laughs and blushes, and Wolfgang shakes his head tiredly.

“What image?” he mutters, drinking.

“Oh, I know what he’s referring to,” says Kala immediately.

He looks at her, studying, and watches her lips twitch in mortified realization. His smirk grows and he nods, sliding his hand down her waist, but he doesn’t tease her. She averts her eyes, brows raised, and drinks the champagne.

“What’s this about a promotion?” she asks.

He glances down. “One of our guys retired, Will wants me to take his place, but I’d need a degree. I don’t know if I have the time.”

“Oh, you should!” says Kala eagerly, playing with his ear, her eyes shining into his. “Isn’t it a better position if you need a degree?”

He smiles at her enthusiasm and at the pleasant tingle she sent through him with her touch, but he shakes his head. “It’s a better position, yeah, but a degree takes years, and I don’t want to go to school. I’m away from Ella enough already.”

Kala turns her gaze to the little girl across the room and his eyes follow hers. They watch Ella make blowfish faces at Sonia, who Luna is holding like a ragdoll, her head fortunately supported against her chest.

“Oh,” says Kala, frowning. “That’s--”

“Hold her head!” shouts Wolfgang.

Luna turns wide eyes on them. Will yells “Listen to your uncle!” and she quickly holds her little sister properly. Wolfgang smiles slightly and shakes his head, turning back to Kala.

“He uses his army voice with them and they listen,” he jokes. “Even Ella.”

“Oh, you are far scarier than Will,” Kala assures him. “You communicate murder with a glance, and though you have a sweet center, that isn’t very evident.”

He frowns. “I have a what?”

“A sweet center,” she repeats assuredly, then smiles. “Like a bonbon. Can I call you that?”

“No,” he laughs.

She thumbs over his temple and says lovingly, “I’m going to.” Then she laughs at herself and murmurs, “You look like you want to kick me.”

He nods. “I do.”

“Well, you’d be foolish to try, I took one self-defense class with Hernando so I’m basically an expert--”

He starts to laugh. He senses she’s had a bit more eggnog than she intended, but so has he.

“Want to go, Dandekar?” he jokes.

She nods eagerly and sets her champagne on the mantel, raising her fists. He glances into her eyes, then gently corrects her fists into the proper position.

“Oh,” she says disappointedly, letting them down. “Maybe I should have taken two classes.”

He nods and laughs. “Maybe.”

She rolls her eyes at this, but then she kisses him, staying close for a moment. She hums in pleasure as he squeezes her hip and her fingers gently twitch on his chest. He recalls her text from yesterday, that she dreamed of him, and realizes he never asked for details.

“What was your dream about?” he says quietly.

He notices a quick intake of breath; her muscles stiffen slightly against him, and when she pulls back to look into his eyes, her skin is bright with sudden perspiration, her hair frizzing, a tell-tale sign of agitation. She glances down, tonguing over her lip, and gives into a slow but sure grin as she moves her hands up to his shoulders.

“What...do you think it was about?” she says, with a hint of amusement to disguise how shy she feels.

Her tone tells him that he should have guessed, but he didn’t until now. A weight falls in his stomach and he stares at her with a chill. His mouth goes dry at the images in his mind -- the images that were in her mind -- and he feels his cock twitch. He inhales to fight this, but fails, and the intensity of her touch abruptly doubles.

She looks down at his silence. He starts to smirk, tucking her hair behind her ear, unable to have a solemn conversation about this -- he’s too pleased for that.

“What did we do?” he asks casually.

She looks up with raised brows. “We were in bed, in the morning, and you were behind me, so…” She adjusts her sleeve and slides her fingers along the stem of her glass. “At least it was realistic. I told you to hurry before Ella woke up.”

“Only you,” he says after a moment, “would focus on the realism of a sex dream.”

“I’m glad it was realistic!” she defends softly, flustered. “It made it real, so when I woke up, I…” She hastily drinks and licks the droplets off her lips. “Well.”

“What?” he coaxes, smirking openly now. “It can’t be worse than what I did.”

“You touched yourself?” she asks hopefully.

He pops his brows. “No. But I--” He stops, the implication of her response reaching him; his cock grows heavier at the idea of her touching herself to thoughts of him; he begins to play out scenarios -- one where she stayed in bed, giving into the urge immediately after her dream; one where she paced, debating for a moment before getting into the shower and angling the water just right; one in front of the mirror, so she could watch herself as her body responded. He realizes she’s said his name and he blinks, returning to reality. “Sorry.”

“But you what?” she prompts, now unsmiling, clenching her glass in her slim fingers.

“Thought of you when I was having sex,” he finishes.

“Oh,” she says, very quiet. “Intentionally?”

“No, I couldn’t help it,” he admits. “Which were you hoping for?”

She grins. “That you couldn’t help it. Because that’s how I felt. But I’d never done that before.” She shakes her head. “So I suppose that’s a bit different.”

“What?” he asks, surprised but gentle. “You never…?”

Her throat bobs as she swallows and her cheeks grow dark again. “No? I never wanted to before that, so I never did.” Then she covers her face with both hands. “Oh God, why did I tell you all of this?”

“It’s hot,” he murmurs, pulling her hands down and meeting her eyes. “Keep going.”

“Keep going?” she whispers, but he sees his touch relaxed her; she nearly laughs as she looks at him, and she presses closer; his hands slide down to find her ass and she flashes her eyes at him, but smiles. “I’m not going to tell you...everything I did...at a party.”

“No one can hear you,” he tells her.

“You can,” she says.

He laughs at this and kisses the side of her mouth, then under her ear, then nuzzles her; she hums happily and takes his face in her hands, again playing with one of his ears. They meet eyes and linger here for a moment, both laughing again, before she pulls away and finishes her champagne.

“I was in my kitchen,” she tells him shortly. “And that is all you get.”

“Did you come?”

“Wolfgang.”

He chuckles darkly. “That’s a yes.”

“Wolfgang Bogdanow, I will kill you, and no one will find out, because I appear very innocent and incapable of violence,” she retorts.

“Kitchen...” he muses. “Banana or cucumber--?”

“Slowly, painfully, an unmarked grave,” she says, leveling her gaze into his eyes.

“What did you think about?” he asks more seriously, bringing her close again.

She smiles, also sincere, and glances down as she gathers her thoughts; her smile intensifies and she closes her eyes. “Just, you...your fingers, what might happen if you...lifted me on the counter…and your...” She bites her lip. “I blame Dani. She described you in so much detail that it barely took my imagination." Then she touches herself between her eyes and starts to laugh. “I think I had a bit too much.” She looks at him after a moment. “Was it different? Thinking about me?”

He finishes his drink and nods seriously. “Yes.”

“Yes?” she asks quietly.

“Yes,” he repeats. “You’re different for me.”

She looks at him for a long time, her eyes like dark moons, her lips parting and unparting. She inhales and he thumbs over the crest of her bum, affectionately rather than with need.

“So, school,” she whispers after a while. “What -- what degree would you get?”

He suspects this wasn’t the first question on her mind but he answers warmly. “Don’t know.”

“You should get a degree in Russian,” she suggests. “You wouldn’t have to study.”

He breathes in the scent of her hair, lingering here, then frowns in thought. “You’re a genius.”

“I know,” she says, laughing; then she pulls back to meet his eyes and continues more solemnly. “You always want to be a firefighter, don’t you?”

He nods. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles. “Well, then this is inevitable, isn’t it?”

He glances down at the reality of this statement and nods again. “It’s four nights a week, Ella’s still little, I--” He stops. “But I need to, for her. Last night, she….” His eyes drift to Ella, who is sitting on Riley now, face upturned as she asks about Sonia. His chest clenches. “She had a nightmare, so I held her for a while, and we heard a gunshot and...I want a better place for her, somewhere I don’t lose sleep thinking about what could happen to her.”

Kala nods and says, “No one deserves to worry about their child.”

His lips twitch. “Can’t avoid it.”

She smiles. “You know what I mean.” She tilts her head. “I could watch her sometimes, while you’re at school,” she says softly. “And I know that’s -- that confusing for her, but we...we are together now, so…”

“You’re still her teacher,” he replies, just as quiet. Then he breathes out. “But she loves you, and it’s already too late if you leave.”

“I -- I don’t want to make it worse, of course, you were right when you--”

“No, I’m sorry about that,” he interrupts firmly. “I didn’t think about what you’ve been through when I said that.”

She shakes her head slowly, eyes glowing. “Do you know, never, the entire time I was married...my husband never apologized to me? He did, in words, but he never meant it. It was a formality so I would let him sleep next to me again. But everything you’ve ever said to me is genuine, even if it’s…”

He smiles and murmurs, “Rough around the edges?”

She grins and nods, eyes growing yet softer. “Yes.”

“Do you want to come home with me later?” he asks; the words came out without a moment of consideration, an impulse driven by her hair against his lips, her warmth against his body. He inhales, waiting, but she doesn’t answer so he starts again, “I--”

“I don’t know yet,” she interrupts, quiet and cautious.

He flushes and glances down apologetically, holding her closer. She meets his eyes and smiles gently, tonguing over her bottom lip.

“Of course I want to, but I want to be careful because I’ve never…” She breathes in and tracks her thumb over the bones of his wrist. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and…” She smiles again, eyes nearly closing from the power of her next words. “...so this is a very serious decision. And I want it to be. Nothing I have ever done with you or said to you is thoughtless because you mean more to me than that.”

He realizes that the same is true of him, so he murmurs, “I understand.” Then he smiles like she is and meets her eyes. “I’ve already made my decision about you.”

She grins. “Oh, I know that…”

He shakes his head. “That isn’t what I mean.”

She looks up, holding her breath. “What do you mean?”

“I want to be with you,” he replies, and again the words slip from him without hesitation. “I have since I first saw you but I didn’t let myself believe that.”

“I didn’t know what to think of you,” she admits, torn between a laugh and a sniffle. “But I did think of you, more than I thought of anyone...so I suppose I knew, too.”

They look at each other and her gaze softens to something solemn; her free hand finds his and her brow wrinkles. Her expression reflects precisely how deeply he feels for her and he finds himself out of breath; suddenly, they are alone, and the only sensation that exists is her thumb slowly but boldly stroking his. He looks into her eyes and she is infinite, an ocean he was waiting to fall into since he was born.

She swallows, overwhelmed as he is, and closes her eyes as she brushes her nose on his. He wants to be alone with her, just to hold her. He was unprepared for this woman, and he knows he knew that from the beginning; he insisted to himself she was nothing more to him than any woman ever had been, because if she was, he would have been faced with a truth he had always rebelled from. Loving her is as impossible as seeing a ghost, but less easily refuted; he does not love her because he is tired, drunk; he did not glimpse her out of the corner of his eye and make her into something she is not; she is not a strange wisp of fog or smoke, a voice in his head, or a force that shakes him when walking in the dark. She simply is.

The party winds down after a few more minutes, everyone kissing goodbye and saying Merry Christmas, and Ella arrives by the fire with her shoes untied, asking for assistance. Wolfgang, in the midst of kissing Kala and mumbling plans for their first date tomorrow, looks at her as if reconsidering his choice to raise her. Ella blinks innocently, smiling, then hugs Kala’s legs, leans, and yawns loudly. She and Wolfgang meet eyes, charmed, and laugh quietly together.

“Papa?” Ella says. “Papa I want the sticky shoes again.”

“The velcro?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she sighs.

Kala crouches down and ties Ella’s shoes, then kisses her cheek gently. “We’ll practice more.” She adjusts Ella’s reindeer antlers, then touches her thumb to her tongue and uses the moisture to wipe the lipstick off of Ella’s nose. “There we go. It was smudged. That’s better.”

Wolfgang smiles gently at the familiarity of this gesture. He remembers wrinkling his nose at his mother whenever she cleaned him up with a bit of spit. Kala stands up and looks at him with soft eyes and he breathes out, reluctant to let her go for the night.

“Tomorrow,” she assures him.

He nods and reaches to squeeze Ella’s shoulder as she leans sleepily on him. He kisses Kala goodbye.

“I’m tired!” complains Ella.

“I’m tired of you,” replies Wolfgang.

Kala laughs quietly against his mouth. She shoves him and gently reproaches, “It’s late for her, shush.” Then she kisses him, a hard, quick, playful kiss, and grins as she meets his gaze. “Walk me to my car.”

He smiles and nods in agreement, touching his nose to hers. They walk to the door together, saying quiet goodbyes to the friends nearest to them, and put their coats on. Wolfgang picks up Ella because she’s drowsing, then takes Kala’s hand as they walk down the stairs. They reach her car, standing in the rain and mist under a streetlight, and he tilts her face up to kiss her deeply; she makes a very soft, pained sound as they separate and he nearly asks her again to come home with him. But he stays quiet, tells her to text him that she made it home because of the bad weather, and walks back to the lot next to the station.

***

_Two Hours Later_

Kala yawns, tucking her hair behind her ear as she passes her eyes over the last worksheet. She finds nothing seriously incorrect so she presses a star sticker to the top and draws a smiley face, then adds this to her “graded” stack. She presses her hands on the small of her back to stretch it, then blinks tiredly and breathes out as she looks around her room. She intended to go to sleep, but the memories of the night kept her awake; she found herself too lonely to breathe without Wolfgang beside her.

She looks at her phone for new texts, but all she has is _good night_ , read at 22:16. She’s read it a dozen times since receiving it. She feels now that she should have considered going home with him, despite how shy she would have been with Ella in the apartment. She tells herself she should wait for better timing. She wonders if he would accept a compromise, if she could go to his apartment and ask to sleep next to him, but she wants more than that and she knows he does too.

She considers texting him, or calling him to fall asleep to his voice, but it isn’t enough. She glances at the books on her bedside table, then at her phone, trying to choose between a short story or some music to help her sleep. Thunder rumbles as her fingers select a slim, turquoise book from the stack and her lights flicker. She dares them to go out so she has an excuse to drive to his place, but then contemplates the power she has right now. She could choose to see him, without a reason. She could make the choice she’s never felt compelled to make before.

The idea intoxicates her. She envisions the brief pause they’ll share after she knocks; his surprise, her determination; his grip on her when he realizes her intentions.

She slides out of bed. If she loses her nerve, she can simply turn around; if she sees him and her guts fail, she can say she simply wants to be close to him tonight, nothing more.

She tugs jeans on and adds a jacket. Once outside, she sees that the low-hanging clouds from earlier have darkened and rain is pouring down. She hisses quietly and takes her umbrella out of her purse, then darts to her car. The drive is dark and foggy. She listens to the news on the radio and sips some long-cold tea from her thermos she left in the car this morning. She fiddles to find music when the news turns sad. She spends a moment singing to herself and tapping her fingers on the wheel when a light gets stuck on red.

Her pulse picks up when she turns down Wolfgang’s street and she chews gently on her lip. When she parks, she takes a moment to touch up her lipstick in the rearview mirror and sighs at her hair, which the humidity has made even frizzier.

She breathes in to steady herself, preparing as well as she can for seeing him. The rain has intensified and thunder rumbles distantly as she enters the lobby of the dilapidated apartment complex. She goes up the stairs to the left, climbing until she reaches the second floor.

She knocks on his door and looks down while she waits. The slidelock clicks open and then the deadbolt. She looks up, smiling nervously, and sees Wolfgang in the doorway. The sight of him stops her breath, though she just saw him. Her heart jumps and her stomach clenches; a heady tingle runs to her fingertips and she wets her lips without meaning to.

He’s wearing a tight tee-shirt and boxers. His expression is cautious, as she expected, but when she smiles more widely, the corner of his mouth curve in response.

“Did you forget something?” he asks.

“In a way,” she replies, mouth dry.

He nods, opening the door wider. He glances over his shoulder at Ella, who is sitting by the woodstove, coloring. “She can’t sleep. She hates storms.”

Kala wasn’t expecting Ella to be awake, but she smiles when Ella looks up and springs to her feet. She flies across the room to greet Kala, confused and exuberant.

“Come in,” mumbles Wolfgang.

She watches his expression closely for a smirk of satisfaction, and finding none, feels more assured. She takes off her muddy boots, then passes him and enters the apartment; he locks the door and she walks in front of him, holding her breath, aware that her backside is drawing his eyes. She sits on the couch and Ella plops in front of the woodstove where her coloring supplies are, then pauses after grasping an orange crayon and seeks Kala’s eyes.

She grins. “Hi.”

“Hi,” says Kala, laughing.

Ella laughs too. “Hi.” Then she tilts her head. “Are you papa’s girlfriend now?”

Kala breathes in and perks her eyebrows. “Well, yes.”

Ella nods. “Good because he only has boy friends and girls are nicer than boys.”

Kala hears Wolfgang snort in the kitchen as he uncaps a beer. She smiles and relaxes somewhat, leaning back on the couch.

“I know boys can be mean sometimes,” says Kala kindly. “You can always tell your papa or me about that.”

“I know,” says Ella brightly, resuming her drawing.

Kala watches her affectionately, so captivated that she is startled by Wolfgang’s reappearance. He notices this and a brief smile touches his lips as he hands her a cup of tea.

He glances at Ella and watches her for a moment, then says, “Mausi, go brush your teeth.”

Kala brightens at the idea that Wolfgang wants to be alone with her. Ella looks up with a flat, grumpy expression and Wolfgang points at the bathroom. She flares her nostrils defiantly at him but gets up; then thunder sounds, closer than before, and she freezes. She directs a wide-eyed gaze at the window and shrinks back.

“Fuck,” murmurs Wolfgang, glancing at Kala apologetically before turning back to his daughter. “El, c’mere, it’s okay.”

She shakes her head, still stationary.

“She hates thunder,” Wolfgang tells Kala, setting aside his drink and getting up.

He lifts Ella in his arms and hugs her, then sits down with her on his lap. She snuggles against him, pouting, and he looks at Kala while he rubs Ella’s back. Kala smiles slightly and reaches to stroke Ella’s head.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, the thunder can’t hurt you,” she murmurs. She feels Wolfgang’s gaze linger on her but she continues to soothe Ella and doesn’t meet his eyes. “You’re safe here.”

Ella sniffles and nods and Kala smiles, her chest stinging slightly with affection. She wants to press closer, hug Ella and tuck her face against Wolfgang’s chest. She wants him to put an arm around them both, to close her eyes while the rain pours, for him to carry her to bed after Ella finally drifts off. She wants a sleepy conversation about her day, slow kisses until she falls asleep; she wants to wake up to the smell of rainfall and coffee and stay under the covers with him until the last second, then scramble to make Ella breakfast and rush to work.

Thunder sounds again, more loudly, and the apartment shakes. Ella buries her face in Wolfgang’s chest and clenches his shirt in her tiny hands. Kala clicks her tongue sympathetically and pats her back.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs.

Wolfgang smiles distantly. “Rained a lot when she was little, she always wanted her mom.”

Kala hums and sips her tea, then gently touches his arm and says, “I’m sure you always made her feel better.”

Wolfgang glances up, eyes pausing on Kala’s hand on his arm, and meets her eyes; she notices a touch of satisfaction in his smile and she flushes, pulling her hand slowly away.

He shakes his head and squeezes Ella. “I didn’t, she used to cry until she fell asleep.”

“No,” argues Ella.

Kala laughs gently. “You don’t have to sound brave for me.”

Ella hmmphs and Wolfgang shakes his head, slightly amused, then tugs lovingly on one of Ella’s curls. She sniffles into him and hides her face more completely. He glances at Kala, who smiles brilliantly.

“She’s so sweet,” she murmurs.

Wolfgang smiles too. “Maybe, she’s been a pain in the ass lately--”

Ella silently lifts her hand and presses it over his mouth, giggling. Kala laughs loudly and Wolfgang grins, tipping his head back with a quiet chuckle. Ella turns her face, proud of herself, and smirks at Kala, who struggles to stop laughing. Ella grins, and then thunder rumbles again and she gasps and hides her face.

“I think it’s getting closer,” says Kala worriedly.

Wolfgang nods, glancing outside, and the rain hammers on the roof with new force. Kala looks down, drinking her tea, and taps her thumbnail on her glass. She hums quietly, searching for a conversation.

“I liked storms when I was little,” she says. “They were exciting, even when they were dangerous.” She smiles and tilts her head. “It doesn’t rain here like it rains in Mumbai.”

“Do you miss it?” Wolfgang asks, finishing his beer and thumbing over Ella’s head.

She nods and smiles more widely. “I do. Well, sometimes. Berlin feels like home now.”

The wind whistles in the chimney, thunder crashes, and lightning illuminates the street just outside. Ella shakes and starts to cry.

“Papa!” she whispers in alarm. “Papa make it go away...”

He kisses the top of her head. “I can’t, try to ignore it.”

She sobs weakly and Kala breathes out, desperate to help. She puts her hand on Ella’s back and meets Wolfgang’s eyes.

“She really doesn’t like it,” she observes.

“No,” admits Wolfgang. “And it’s late, she’s tired, that doesn’t help.”

Kala watches them for a moment, nervous she’s interrupting, and mumbles, “I’m sorry, I should have stayed home--”

“No,” he interrupts, adding more softly, “No.”

Kala nods unsurely before drinking her tea. She stretches, eyes still on Wolfgang, and sets her foot carefully on the coffee table so it’s near his. The thunder and lightning intensifies and Ella shakes her head rapidly.

“Okay,” says Wolfgang, groaning slightly as he gets to his feet and lifts Ella. He gestures at his guitar on the side of the couch and says to Kala, “Can you grab that?”

Kala breathes in at the sight of the instrument. She hastily finishes her tea. “Oh, ah, okay.”

She picks up the guitar and follows Wolfgang into Ella’s room, which she’s never seen before -- it’s small, simple, and surprisingly clean, except for an assortment of blocks on the carpet. The walls have several posters with letters and numbers, and her bedspread is patterned with bunnies and carrots. Kala smiles at the yellow backpack, neatly hung on a hook near the bed.

“Okay Ella, c’mon,” says Wolfgang, pulling the bedspread down and lowering her against the pillows.

Tears stream down her face and she shakes her head, reaching for him.

“It’s okay, I’m staying here,” he tells her, sitting next to her.

He reaches for his guitar and Kala hands it to him, breath unsteady. She stands in front of him, fidgeting slightly. They look at each other, both suspended in the moment, and then Ella sniffles loudly.

“Miss Kala?” she whispers.

Kala looks at her, surprised, and holds her breath. Ella coughs and wipes her face, then reaches her arms out. Kala’s eyes widen and she looks at Wolfgang for guidance. He shakes his head, then gives a small shrug. Kala nods, body abruptly tight with nerves, and she sits on the bed next to Ella, who promptly climbs on her lap and snuggles into her.

“Oh,” murmurs Kala, looking at Wolfgang again.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“I -- I don’t mind,” she whispers.

“You’re not her mother, it’s not your job,” he says shortly.

Kala breathes in, slightly hurt though she knows he didn’t intend this, and protectively cradles Ella. “I know, but I -- I don’t mind.” She can’t find anything else to say. “Really, Wolfgang, I...”

He gives a quiet, disgruntled laugh, looking down. “Fuck, this is--” He cuts himself off and looks at her, then nods softly. “I guess this is okay.”

Kala nods hopefully and nuzzles the top of Ella’s head, then smiles and gestures at his guitar.

Her heartbeat multiplies as she watches his fingers. He adjusts one of the strings. She hums, intrigued, and the storm moves yet closer, the apartment trembling at the newest crash of thunder. Ella shudders and tucks her face into Kala’s chest and Kala pats her back.

“You’re good with her,” says Wolfgang quietly.

She smiles. “I’m a teacher.”

“No, you--” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “She likes you. She doesn’t like anyone.”

Kala nods, pressing her lips together, and hugs the little girl who feels more like her own as the days go by. She closes her eyes to curb unexpected tears; it’s too easy to pretend that this life is hers, that this man is hers, but it’s just as easy to remember that he isn’t, that she’s alone, that she’s pathetic for clinging to this daydream.

Thunder cracks again and Ella cries loudly.

“Hey, I’m going to play something for you, okay?” asks Wolfgang in a soothing tone. “Listen to this, don’t listen to the storm.”

Ella nods miserably and Kala smooths her hair, watching Wolfgang. She knows she stepped into a life that does not belong to her, but when she looks at him, she feels more at home than she ever has. She swallows, nervous what this night means for the future, and bites her lip. Wolfgang takes a soft breath through his nose, then strums the guitar and glances at Ella. He begins a slow, sweet melody that catches Kala off-guard. She would expect something so melodious to seem unsuited for this man, who so far she has found rather rough, but it doesn’t; his fingers move naturally on the strings and a smile she’s never seen before touches his lips.

Ella softens at the sound and her breath evens out. Kala watches Wolfgang’s fingers, which are precise and practiced, and then her eyes track upwards, lingering on details -- the texture of his lips, slightly chapped form the cold weather, the slight uptilt of his nose, the angle of his jaw and the pattern of his stubble, longer than usual, the freckle under his eye, his lashes, and the concentrated crease on his brow. She breathes out, her skin growing warm to the touch, and her stomach tightens as he moves his hand on the neck of the guitar.

She wets her lips, watching his muscles tense under his shirt, and he raises his eyebrows at her, gentle and playful. She clears her throat quietly.

“That’s beautiful,” she tells him.

He glances down, smiling, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to smirk. He transitions to a new song, which is more complex, and she laughs at the undisguised attempt to impress her. He grins gently and glances at Ella, who has closed her eyes.

“She asleep?” he asks.

Kala shakes her head, recognizing Ella’s rapid breathing as an indication that she’s still frightened. He nods, slipping back into a soothing melody, and Kala tries to control her heartbeat as she watches his rough fingers pluck the strings. She knows she shouldn’t think of his hands on her skin, his tongue past her lips, his body crushed against hers, but she can’t help it. Heat swirls in between her legs as she studies his knuckles and the veins on his forearms, and as he lifts the guitar for a better angle, his bicep flexing, her pulse begins to pound.

She knows now that she should have stayed home, because she’s going to do something inadvisable as soon as they’re alone. She begins to consider the consequences in her mind. If she sleeps with him, one of two things will happen. He’ll ask her to leave, like he does with every other woman, or he’ll let her stay and she’ll wonder restlessly until morning if he was telling the truth. If she’s different. If he’ll be faithful.

Her gaze drifts back to his full lips and she closes her eyes briefly. She realizes now that she lost the battle the moment she got out of bed.

He looks at Ella as he plays, his fingers softer to the touch, slower. Kala smiles invitingly at him, eyes wide and bright, and he pauses playing for the briefest moment as they hold each other’s gaze. She notices his adam’s apple twitch slightly, sees an intake of breath. Her skin prickles pleasantly and she realizes suddenly how wet she is, how keen she is for him to touch her there. She lets out a long, slow breath. She knows she’s only delaying the inevitable. She knows she’s grown too curious, too attracted, to walk away from him without at least one night in his bed, and tonight is the best opportunity she’s had.

She swallows, debating with herself again, and then she notices a faint snore. She looks down at Ella, then at Wolfgang, who nods and carefully sets his guitar aside. Kala’s pulse picks up. She knows she doesn’t have any more time to deliberate, to consider each consequence.

She slips slowly out of bed and lowers Ella’s head onto her pillow. Wolfgang stands up, then covers Ella with her comforter, and Kala glances at him. The expression of concern and affection on his face sends Kala’s heartbeat into a spiral and her thoughts crystallize. _You love him, you love him, you love him._

She wishes she didn’t, because the pain he’ll cause her when he leaves wouldn’t be so intense; but she knows that if she didn’t, she wouldn’t want to be with him at all, and for the first time, she’s willing to suffer for some short-lived joy.

She smiles slightly at him, then glances at Ella. She takes a breath, then leans and kisses the girl’s temple gently. Wolfgang steps next to her, sliding a hand along her back, then tucks Ella’s hair behind her ear and kisses her too. Kala blinks at the feeling of Wolfgang’s hand on her and she follows him towards the door.

He shuts off the light and silently closes Ella’s door, now alone with Kala in the hall. She looks up at him with determined eyes, and just before he speaks, surges up on her toes and kisses him hard. He breathes in sharply and she moans instantly at the contact, flooded with months of pent-up emotion.

“Kala,” he mumbles.

“Kiss me,” she insists.

He tangles his hands in her hair and kisses her deeply, guiding her towards his room. His touch tells her he’s surprised, but he shows no hesitation, and she grins softly against his lips, overwhelmed with relief that he doesn’t feel the need to question what she wants right now.

They stumble together until they hit the nearest wall. He presses her against it and they kiss hungrily, their quiet sounds harmonizing. A man has never kissed her like this, never held her so she feels carried away; she feels small in his arms and she likes it. She feels the outline of his cock on her tummy and she groans quietly, heat flooding her fingers and toes, before opening her mouth and sharing a messier, more desperate kiss. He takes her face in his hands, then moves them to her breasts for the first time. She clings to him, fingers insistently tangled in his shirt, and her mouth falls open against his. Her hips twitch instinctively and he kisses her neck, stubble rough on her skin.

The throb between her legs intensifies. He nips her and sucks briefly under her ear, and her eyelids flutter in pleasure; her arms relax, melting around his neck, and she grins softly at the sensation of his body against hers. She’s relieved that he’s giving her no room to think, no room to breathe. His touch is urgent and euphoric.

She moans into his mouth as he tangles his hands in her hair, but he pulls back sooner than she wanted.

“You sure?” he mumbles, breathing heavily.

She nods rapidly. “Take my clothes off.”

He feels along the wall and opens a door, guiding her into his room; he locks the door, complete darkness enveloping them. He pushes her against his wall, kissing her hungrily, and she moves trembling hands to his belt and unbuckles it. He makes a quiet, deep sound of approval and pops the button of her jeans. He lifts the hem of her sweater and she breathes unsteadily, putting her arms over her head. He tugs the sweater off and resumes their kiss. Her heart races, her chest rising and falling rapidly; she doubts she has long to wait before he’s inside of her, and the thought alone makes her mouth water and her skin flush all over.

She nudges him towards his bed, impatient; his legs hit it, so he sits, then glances up at her; his gaze lingers on her lips before he draws her close, kissing her under her breasts. He says her name as his tongue tracks over her ribs and she shivers, and then he puts his hands on her ass and pulls her forcefully closer. He takes the lacy band of her panties in his teeth and lets it snap back, then tugs her jeans down. He kisses her bellybutton, then takes her panties down too. Her chest rises and falls hard, and he kisses her just above the folds of her pussy; she stays still, stunned by the sweet gesture, sure he kissed her here to express his care, but before she can even smile, he’s lifted her leg onto the bed and licked a thick stripe along her entrance. His stubble tickles and her nipples perk almost painfully as he repeats the movement. She tilts her head back, unprepared for this, but he doesn’t continue -- he stands, turns, and lowers her onto the bed underneath him.

He meets her gaze briefly, his lips curved and confident, and he pulls her socks off and kisses each of her ankles. She laughs quietly at this and relaxes, then watches him unbutton his shirt and toss it onto a chair nearby. She tongues over her bottom lip, studying the muscles of his chest and abdomen, impatient to be underneath him, to give up all control.

He leans to kiss her. She holds her breath, shivering in anticipation, her thoughts frenetic, feverish, and dizzy with joy. She feels like this is her first time, and when she looks up and sees that it’s Wolfgang, no one else, her heart nearly bursts.

“I wish it had been you,” she whispers.

“Hm?” he asks.

“The first time I -- I wish it had been you,” she explains.

“Kala,” he says gently, stopping.

“Because this feels right,” she says, talking more than she expected to. “God, Wolfgang…”

He nods, shifting on top of her, and she lifts to kiss him deeply. He mumbles in approval and she slips her fingers under the band of his boxers, then pushes them down; she wants to communicate that she doesn’t mind the quick pace, that she doesn’t want to wait. He breathes in, his hands finding her breasts again, and she arches her shoulders so he can reach behind her and unclasp her bra.

He does this quickly, one-handed, and she glances at him in surprise, but doesn’t have time to speak before his mouth is on hers. He squeezes her breasts, thumbs firmly stroking her nipples, and she lets out a soft, open-mouthed moan, eyes lost in his.

“Oh,” she breathes.

They sink again onto his mattress, kissing fiercely, and she wraps her legs around his waist then slides her feet slowly down his legs, loosening underneath him. He slips her panties down and she continues to work his boxers off. He casts them onto the floor with a twitch of his foot and reaches in his bedside drawer for a condom, but she stops his hand.

“No, I want to feel you--”

He hesitates.

“I can’t get pregnant, Wolfgang,” she whispers.

“I’ve heard that before--”

She laughs. “No, I want to feel you…”

He nods and tosses it aside. Her legs fall open automatically and she looks at him with glossy eyes, breathing hard. He brushes his lips on hers and guides himself against her. She holds her breath, lost in the reality of the moment; she’s naked, underneath him, about to have sex with him -- Wolfgang, finally, the only man she’s ever wanted this way; tonight isn’t in her mind, in her sleep, it’s real, and he’s real, and she doesn’t have to wait another second.

He glances into her eyes and she gives a tiny nod, smiling, and he kisses her just as he thrusts into her. She lets out a breathy moan and wraps her arms around him, eyes shut tight, brows wrinkled, smiling with a slightly open mouth. She slides her fingers into his hair and puts her legs gently around his waist, moving with him, flexing her hips so her body adjusts to his size. He groans, face tucked into her neck, and she moans again, not yet from overwhelming pleasure but because she’s waited too many weeks for this to be hers; only moments ago she was unsure if she should make this choice, but now she has no doubt. She wants to give herself to him again and again like a wave breaking on the shore.

She arches her back and breathes out, angling her hips closer to his, and he increases his pace and kisses her deeply. She groans into his mouth, feeling over his muscular shoulders, her fingertips twitching on the veins of his forearms; she wonders if she should be serious, if she should make love with him solemnly, but she can’t help grinning against his lips and laughing through a moan. Her imagination doesn’t compare to how he feels in person; his lips, his taste, his skin, his sweat. She can’t contain her joy.

He kisses and nips her neck as he fucks her and her brow twitches, heat building between her legs. She remembers the slow escalation when she touched herself, the way time seemed to slow and her nerves grew more and more sensitive, but being with him is triply intense. Nothing exists beyond his heat, his tongue on her skin, his cock stretching her. She lets out a soft, stunned ah! as he pushes deeper. He moves his mouth to hers again and she slides her hands over the muscles of his back, fixated on their motion as he moves inside of her.

He keeps a slow, deep pace for a long time. She meets him in messy, open-mouthed kisses, flashing her eyes into his; he sucks gently on her tongue at one point and she giggles, arching her back; he slides his hands over her breasts and grips her hips hard, and they move together until her skin is drenched with sweat, until her thighs are trembling around him. She’s never made love like this, and the sensation erases all thoughts; her mind buzzes pleasantly, lights playing on the backs of her eyelids.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t know where she is beyond his bed, who she is beyond his lover. Every inch of her is alight, almost floating, and she’s only pulled back to reality when he moans; the sound electrifies her and she moans too, finding his eyes in the darkness. His expression stops her breath, and it seems she has a similar effect on him, because they slow, soften, and lock eyes.

He swipes his thumb over her lower lip and gently raises his brows. “Kala...”

She breathes out, unsteady, and whispers, “Wolfgang...”

They continue to look at each other, and she perceives the slightest flicker of alarm in his eyes; she feels too much, too soon, and she knows he does too. She opens her mouth, wanting to speak, to express somehow that this is right, that nothing has ever been so right, but he kisses her to avoid this and fucks her more forcefully. She gasps, fingernails pressing into his back, and then moans deep in her chest, no longer concerned with communication, no longer stunned by the intensity of his gaze. She doesn’t care that he interrupted their moment of intimacy. Now, she simply wants -- she wants him, his cock, his taste, an orgasm. She’s never wanted like this, never so greedily chased a sensation.

“Wolfgang,” she groans, body sinking into his bed under his weight.

He grips the mattress on either side of her and drives into her hard; her breasts bounce and she gasps her breaths, and then her body floods with heat and chill at once; she was nervous at first that she idealized him, that it would be easier to come from her own touch with him in her imagination, but it’s clear now that she’ll barely last another moment.

Her legs clench around him and he slows slightly, his cock angled inside of her to graze her most sensitive spot, and he kisses her gently. She cries out on his lips, legs giving out as she comes and throbs around him; her orgasm lingers, tingling through her legs, and she clenches her toes in his sheets. He continues to move inside of her, his head tilted down, sweat beading on his nose and chin, and comes a moment after her; she closes her eyes hard at the sound he makes, then tips her chin up, smiling at his weight on her, and coasts her hands down his slick back. Her muscles are out of strength and she feels blissfully unsteady, as if she spun too many times and fell into soft grass. She turns her head to share a kiss and they look briefly into each other’s eyes.

He shakes his head, then turns on his back; she follows him, one hand on his chest, her head tilted as she stares at him. He smiles slightly and puts a hand through her hair, and then she looks down, cheeks bright, lashes wet.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” he mumbles.

She looks at him quickly before averting her gaze again. She shakes her head. “No, I...I wasn’t either.”

He slides a hand over her hip and pulls her closer, and she kisses him softly before turning, sitting on the edge of the bed, and reaching for her panties. She feels him sit up and she pauses, praying he’ll ask her to stay. He tucks her hair over one of her shoulders and kisses the back of her neck, then pulls her close.

“You can stay,” he says quietly.

She turns her gaze over her shoulder. “I -- I didn’t think you--”

He shakes his head slightly. “I want you to.”

She softens, brow wrinkling, and then she leans into an exuberant kiss; they sink back together and she settles on him after a moment, her head tucked under his chin. She closes her eyes and plays absently with the hair on his chest, then tangles her leg with his and snuggles close. He thumbs over her hip and breathes out. They’re quiet for a moment and then she shivers and he glances at her. She blushes and meets his eyes.

“Can we get in bed?” she whispers.

He smiles lightly and nods, and they both get up so he can throw the covers down on his bed. She hugs herself loosely, looking at his full form, and he looks at her as well. She glances down, heart too full to hold his gaze, and bites her bottom lip.

“Can I borrow a shirt?” she murmurs as thunder grumbles outside.

He nods and takes one from his dresser, tossing it to her, then tugs on his boxers. She puts on the shirt, secretly thrilled by the scent, then gets in bed next to him and hugs him from the side. The storm continues to rage outside, the rain thrashing against the window above them, and she closes her eyes; she wants the storm to continue forever, keeping her here. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and he slides his hand along her back. She smiles helplessly at the gesture, then presses her forehead against his jaw, and sleep begins to pull at her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfgang makes bacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long (not to mention my other fics.) I have no intention of abandoning any of them but updates might be pretty sparse. Thanks for such nice comments :')
> 
> This is shorter than usual and from W's POV (again) but the next chapter is mostly Kala!

Wolfgang wakes up to the sound of a car horn and the swish of tires on wet pavement, instantly inundated with images of last night. He breathes out and stays still for a moment, closing his eyes again; a soft grin comes to his lips and he lightly covers his face, then turns on his side to see Kala. His eyebrows pop slightly in surprise. 

Ella is cocooned in her arms, her mouth open as she snores, profoundly peaceful. Kala is still asleep too, wearing a tiny, gentle smile; her face is pressed into Ella’s hair, her bare arm snugly around the girl’s diminutive form. Ella’s eyes move under her lids, suggesting a dream, her arms tight around a small stuffed dog.

Wolfgang doesn’t breathe, studying the warm light on Kala’s inky curls, the pattern of sun on her skin, the grey sheets hugging her hips and the taper of her legs. He grew accustomed to a small, worried wrinkle between her eyes, but it isn’t apparent in her sleep.

He considers the frosty morning, weeks ago, when Ella woke up too early and fell asleep again in his arms on the couch; he remembers hoping a creak in the floorboards was Kala; he remembers hoping he would feel her hug him from behind at the sink. And he remembers insisting to himself that was impossible in his future. He’s sure now, no matter how many years pass, he will look at Kala and wonder why she chose to be with him of all men. He fights a smile and carefully turns on his side, taking his thumb along her arm. Her smile flickers brighter and she quietly grumbles, then looks at him with narrow, joyful eyes.

They find each other’s hands and Kala grins as their fingers tangle.

“I woke up to drink some water,” she whispers, “and forgot to lock the door. She said she had a nightmare.”

“Did she seem surprised to see you?” he asks, voice scratchy.

She laughs as quietly as she can. “No. No, not at all. She looked at me like I’ve always been here.”

He leans and kisses Kala’s brow, then murmurs, “Next time, lock the door.”

“Mm, why?” she asks.

He raises his brows with an affectionate smirk.

“She would have knocked,” whispers Kala, heat flaring in her cheeks.

“We could have ignored her,” he suggests.

Kala laughs. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

He laughs too and she stretches carefully around Ella to kiss him. She grins against his lips and slides her fingers over his cheek and jaw, staying close enough that he feels her softly exhale. He closes his eyes at the feeling and smiles.

“Let her sleep,” he mumbles.

She nods and gingerly extracts herself from holding Ella. He gets up and tugs on boxers, then tosses Kala a t-shirt; she looks at him for a moment before putting it on, her brows wrinkled, her lips soft. He stops at the sight of her, naked, but his eyes don’t leave hers. She smiles, eyes like warm pools, and pulls the shirt over her head. They both turn as Ella rolls onto her back, snoring, and puts a chubby hand above her head. The toy dog falls away from her and she stretches her toes out. Wolfgang exhales.

“I love watching her sleep,” he says to Kala as she reaches him on the side of the bed.

She leans into him, hugging him from the side, and nuzzles his shoulder before turning her gaze back on Ella. He rubs her side, waiting for a response, and she stretches to kiss his ear. He likes the attention she pays to every inch of him.

“I suppose we aren’t going to hide this from her,” says Kala mildly.

“It’s too late,” he observes, adding unconsciously as Ella’s fingers twitch against her palm, “And I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” Kala admits, though her voice falters slightly.

He nods, breathing out hard, and nudges Kala out of the bedroom, following her closely. He shuts the door, careful to be quiet, and they find themselves in the same position as last night -- finally alone in the hallway, breath suspended, gazes mingling with warm anticipation. He expected her to be shy, seeing him in the light after sleeping with him, but the only sign of this is the slightest flush, and she kisses him with exuberant confidence.

“Good morning,” she whispers.

He kisses her again instead of saying he loves her, gathering the fabric of the t-shirt in his hands as he pulls her against him. She slips into a hug and he nestles his chin on the top of her head, at ease with this intimacy, and closes his eyes as he wraps his arms tighter around her. She hums contentedly and they stay like this for a moment, settling into each other.

He didn’t expect to crave being close to her after last night; he thought sex would be a release, that he wouldn’t need her for a few days; but he needs her more now than he did last night; he doesn’t want to let her go. She looks up, pressing a long kiss to his jaw, and he expects her to pull away, but she doesn’t; she simply stretches to put her arms around his neck, and he thumbs down her spine, relieved that she wants to stay here too.

Another siren whines outside, followed by a shout and a car door slamming.

“Your neighborhood is very loud,” murmurs Kala.

“I’m used to it,” he replies.

“I like it,” she says. “My apartment is too quiet.”

“Then we’re staying at your apartment on New Years,” he tells her and she laughs softly. Then he breathes out. “No, I work that day.”

“You sound excited,” she observes.

“Most of the calls are medical,” he explains. “Alcohol and fireworks.”

“Mm,” she agrees, and then she pulls back suddenly. “Oh, it’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

He looks down, laughing. “Yeah. It is.” He glances at his closed door. “I’m surprised she’s still asleep, we always go to the pool on Christmas, she gets excited…” He trails off, turning to look at Kala, who’s grown slightly apprehensive; he tries to tuck her hair behind her ears, but it’s frizzy from last night, so it stubbornly stays put. He smiles slightly. “You can come if you want.”

She breathes in, relaxing, and smiles too. “Okay.”

He reflects on the moment last night when she sat up and reached for her clothes, and he touches her nose with his. “You thought I wanted you to leave last night?”

“No, but I didn’t want to assume you wanted me to stay,” she admits. “And -- and I wanted to hear you ask me to.”

He nods and reminds himself that she, like him, assumes the worst; he knows he needs to be more communicative with her than with anyone, though he doubts he’ll be able to be. His jaw tenses and he puts the thoughts from his mind, trying to be present with her, but this distracts him too -- he’s never tried to be anything for a woman, but with her, he already feels he isn’t what she deserves. He breathes out slowly, reaching for the ease he felt a moment ago; it helps when she thumbs over his brow and smiles, gentle and understanding.

“I’m new at this too,” she says quietly.

“But you’re better at it,” he replies.

She laughs and squeezes his arms. “No, clearly I’m not if I wondered if I should leave last night after everything we’ve talked about, and after…” She meets his eyes. “After last night itself."

His pulse increases and he looks down, sliding his knuckles along her arm until they reach her hand; he takes it and nods, smiling faintly. She smiles too, more openly, and kisses him.

“We should make breakfast before trouble wakes up,” he suggests as she pulls away.

She nods and laughs again. “Okay.”

They reluctantly release each other, going into the kitchen; he shows her where he keeps the coffee so she can make it, then looks into the living room to check the woodstove, which is barely lit. He glances at Kala as she hugs herself, chilly, and kisses the side of her head before going to add some wood; he sees her teacup from last night on the table and stops, the feeling of her body under his coming back to him; he expected the intensity, because he waited so long to be with her, but he didn’t anticipate how close he felt to her. He remembers slowing, saying her name, and wonders if she realized what that meant, if she knew it was involuntary, that the power of the moment pulled him under.

He feels his eyes on her so he continues towards the stove, loading several logs into it, and returns to her in the kitchen with a blanket in his hand. She looks at him with a warm, too-pleased glance, and gently rolls her eyes when he wraps the blanket around her shoulders.

“How did you know I was cold?” she asks.

“You’re from Mumbai--”

She laughs and shoves him. He adjusts the blanket and steps next to her by the counter, looking at the coffee she’s measured, and quietly takes the scoop from her.

“You’re making coffee, not water,” he mumbles.

She scowls at him and goes to the fridge instead. “What does Ella like?”

He adds more ground coffee to the press. “I don’t know--”

“You’re her father!” laughs Kala.

He smiles. “She likes toast and eggs. But I’m making bacon.”

“Oh, but the smell,” complains Kala.

He looks at her over her shoulder. “Why am I dating you?”

She grins brightly and hauls eggs, bacon, and a jug of milk onto the counter. “You can put up with me if I can put up with you.”

“What else is a relationship?” he murmurs, shifting the teapot onto a burner and reaching for a pan.

She chuckles at this and meets his eyes playfully, and they spend the next few minutes cooking quietly next to each other, waiting for the coffee. He glances out the window, like he does every morning while he makes breakfast; the trees are the same, glistening from the unseasonable rain; the bike racks and parking meters remain in place and the graffiti remains unchanged, yet the view seems new because of the woman next to him. It’s no longer his alone.

He watches Kala put a dollop of butter into the pan -- he eyes her for the amount -- and she catches his gaze.

“What?” she asks.

“Butter is expensive,” he replies.

She looks at the bubbling butter in the pan and tilts her head. “I’ll buy you more butter.” She smiles and slides her free hand over his back. “I’ll eat everything in your fridge. We should start an IOU.”

He laughs and kisses her above her ear. “No babe.”

“I will, my sister calls me piglet because I eat so much,” she tells him. “Every family dinner. _Look at the piglet!_ ”

“She’s your older sister?” he asks.

“No, younger,” says Kala, laughing. “Does that sound like an older sister? Well, I suppose, but I was very nice to Daya as the older one…”

“How much younger is she?”

“Five years,” says Kala, stirring the eggs in the pan. “She was always extremely rude to me but in an affectionate way, and she’s softer now.”

“Sounds like Felix,” he replies. “Not the softer part, he’s only gotten worse.”

She smiles and reaches for some pepper. “I like him. How did you meet?”

He hesitates. He wants to be open with her, but he knows stories like this unravel like stray thread; one seemingly innocent detail leads to questions that reveal a harsher reality. He breathes out of his nose, considering, and finally says,  “I was running from my cousin, but I had a bad ankle, so I ran into the first house with an open gate. I locked myself in and found Felix staring at me with a baseball bat in his hand because it was the middle of the night.”

Kala stops in her motion of grinding the pepper; she hums in response, then murmurs, “Oh.”

“I was running from my cousin because he was going to beat the shit out of me, my ankle was bad because I had jumped out of my room’s window,” he says, preempting her, laying a few strips of bacon into another pan.

“Oh,” says Kala again, concerned, continuing with the pepper. “Why was your cousin mad at you?”

“He wasn’t, I was smaller, it was fun for him,” explains Wolfgang.

“Did...did he outgrow that, do you still talk?” asks Kala hopefully.

He shakes his head. “No, he’s in jail.”

“For?” wonders Kala, though she seems reluctant to hear the answer.

“Aggravated assault,” he replies, omitting that he pled down to that.

She nods slowly. “I assume Felix thought you were breaking in? And why -- I’m sorry, I ask too many questions--”

“I’m used to that,” he says; he knows he wouldn’t be half as communicative if he didn’t have Ella, his friends, and Kala, all who push him.

She laughs. “You are. Why did he have a baseball bat? Where were his parents?”

“His mom was at work, she was a nurse, night shifts, dad died young,” says Wolfgang, recalling the cheap-beer-fueled late nights in Felix’s messy room, watching movies and flicking lit matches at the occasional cockroach that appeared. “He put the bat down when he saw me limping. He was always...” He smiles. “Fearless, stupid maybe, but I respected it, I was stupid too. He hid me in his room in the morning so his mom wouldn’t throw me out, but she found me--”

“Of course…”

“Of course,” he agrees. “But she let me stay, and I lived there until I was seventeen.”

Kala pauses in surprise. “You lived with Felix?”

“My parents were dead and my uncle wanted me gone,” he replies, flipping the bacon and reaching for the whistling kettle. He pours it left-handed into the coffee grounds and shakes the bacon.

“Why did your uncle dislike you?” queries Kala.

Wolfgang smiles coldly as he moves the bacon off the stove and reaches for his coffee; Sergei suspected he helped the police put his father in jail -- which he did -- but he did so only when promised complete anonymity and immunity. Sergei could only suspect, never know, but it was enough to sour the relationship to the point of daily violence.

“He was like my cousin,” he settles for.

“And where is he now?” asks Kala.

He raises his brows. She pales slightly and breathes out in realization.

“Oh, him too?” she asks. “I only know one person who went to prison. My husband’s business partner. And it was for complex financial crimes, nothing violent, although the implications of what he did were rather grim. Though, of course, that goes for my husband too.” She sighs. “He proposed to me too and he was more interesting than Rajan but he was already under investigation so my parents weren’t enthusiastic.”

Wolfgang feels a twinge of jealousy at the word interesting, though he knows he shouldn’t.

“But he would have made a terrible husband--”

“Worse than yours?” he interjects and she laughs.

“No,” she admits. “At least I never would have seen him, since he was sent to prison. That would have been better. I would have gotten some peace.”

Wolfgang relaxes, laughing too, and wraps an arm around her. She tucks her face into his shoulder and kisses it and he tingles at the gesture.

“Were you attached to her?” she asks after a moment. “Felix’s mother?”

He shakes his head. “I was fourteen and she was gone most of the time, and she died when we were seventeen.” He still visits Mrs. Berner’s grave with Felix on her birthday; Felix cries as rarely as he does, but the first time they visited, Felix hugged him and cried for five minutes. They didn’t talk about it, but their relationship was closer after that. “It was hard on him, it was sudden, she was hit by a car.”

“Oh,” sighs Kala, accepting the mug of coffee he hands her. She breathes out, almost a sigh. “Is that when you two decided to be firemen?”

“It took Felix a while,” he replies -- Felix was reluctant to convert from his profitable lifestyle of pickpocketing to something more honest, and he wasn’t ready after his mom’s death. “I’m a few months older so I joined first and got him a job.” He pauses, suddenly grateful for Will, who gave him the benefit of the doubt more than he deserved. “Will helped him a lot, his mom died when he was young too.”

“I’m glad you all found each other,” Kala murmurs, smiling sadly.

He nods but doesn’t respond, recalling how insecure he felt giving any advice to Felix; they both lost their mothers, but car crashes are common, almost expected on a foggy night; he’s sure Felix never felt right to mourn around him; the driver that lost control on the wet pavement was not as negligent as Anton, drunk and out of patience.

“Will knew his mom was going to die, she was sick,” mumbles Wolfgang, moving the bacon to a plate. “I don’t know if that’s worse or better than what happened to Felix and me. But he helped us.”

“So your mother...no, I’m sorry,” she says, voice fading.

“It was sudden too,” he agrees, but doesn’t give more than that; then, concerned that she’s ashamed for asking, he adds, “Ella looks like her.” On impulse, he takes his mother’s cookbook from a nearby cabinet. It isn’t a cookbook as much as it is a photo album, a library of notes, tickets, stolen book pages. He flips to the page he often visits when too drunk. A picture of his mother, holding him as a toddler, a melting chocolate ice cream cone in his hands. “Doesn’t she?”

“She does,” agrees Kala, and then she smiles, her fingers on the photo, repeating more gently, “Oh, she does. I like her tattoos.”

He smiles at the stars and treble clef. “She got them when she was fourteen. She wanted to be a singer." He pauses. "My father hated it. She wore makeup to cover it when he was home. But I liked it. I had names for each of the stars.”

She inhales. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know if he relates to Will or Felix more; he remembers feeling unsurprised, yet shocked, when the police confirmed what he feared. His emotions seemed in conflict, but he’s come to understand that surprise and shock are distinct.

“I expected it,” he says carefully. “Even though it was sudden.”

She doesn’t question him; they finish making breakfast quietly but comfortably, and he looks down as he’s plating the eggs at a soft “hi!” -- Ella, in her colorful pajamas, hugging Kala’s legs. Kala freezes momentarily and so does he; it’s too simple to imagine this is the life they’ve always had. They look at each other and Kala reaches to smooth Ella’s hair out of her face.

“Are you hungry?” she queries.

Ella nods hard and Wolfgang picks her up and sets her on the counter.

“What do you want?” he asks. “Juice? Milk?”

“Coffee,” she chirps, beaming.

He laughs. “No, you can’t have that. You’re getting milk.”

“Juice,” she says.

He sets the milk down, eyeing her, and reaches into the fridge. “Grapefruit?”

“Gross,” she says.

“You have an unsophisticated palate--”

“She’s right,” interjects Kala.

“So do you,” he retorts, taking some apple juice from the drawer and offering it to Kala, who pours a glass and hands it to Ella; she slops half of it on her pajamas and looks apologetically at Wolfgang.

“Slob,” he murmurs, kissing her head and handing her a towel, adding to Kala as he kisses the side of her mouth, “she doesn’t get grown-up glasses yet.”

“Oh,” laughs Kala, lingering to kiss him again. “Oops.”

He squeezes her ass hard and she shoves him, laughing, looking defiantly into his eyes; he laughs too and takes her chin, kissing her gently again, and she looks down, flushed, shaking her head. Ella watches this with curiosity and sips her juice.

“How many pieces of toast?” asks Kala after she’s removed herself from Wolfgang’s grip.

“She’ll say two, give her one, she never eats more than one,” says Wolfgang before Ella can speak.

Kala smiles and nods, taking a slice of bread from the bag, and he puts an arm around her from the side. She sips her coffee -- he catches her nose wrinkle at the strength -- and frowns when the toaster won’t turn on.

“Oh, you have to hit it,” he says casually.

Her frown deepens. He smacks the toaster with the back of his hand and the coils glow. She looks at him doubtfully.

“Fuck faulty wiring,” he mumbles.

“It’s just old,” says Kala patiently.

“Well,” he says, hitting it again. “Fuck it.”

“Wolfgang,” she sighs as the coils go out.  She jostles it and they regain power. “There. Now don’t touch it.”

He looks at her in annoyance and she holds his gaze, raising her eyebrows, undaunted. Both of their mouths quiver slightly, but they resist; he’s the one who finally laughs, and then she gives in too, and they take each other close and playfully tussel. She shakes her head, trying to breathe, and he interrupts the moment with a kiss; she stops laughing immediately, grinning gently against his lips, and accepts a short kiss before pulling away and glancing at Ella.

She flushes and presses her palms on his chest before stepping away. He gets three plates and they sit together at the table, Kala’s feet in his lap. Ella grinds some salt onto her eggs and looks at both of them with big eyes.

“When are we going swimming?” she asks.

“Soon,” says Wolfgang. “Eat your breakfast.”

She grumbles and plays with her eggs. “I want to go now. And -- and when you eat before you swim, you drown.”

“That isn’t true,” says Wolfgang.

“And they get you,” she adds.

He frowns. “Who gets you?”

“They do,” says Ella ominously.

He squints. “Did Felix tell you another scary story?”

Ella shifts in her seat and takes a bite of eggs. “He said there are...evil mermaids that live in the...in the water, and if you, if you get too close they eat you.”

Wolfgang breathes out slowly and drinks his coffee, then glances at Kala, who is staring at Ella with sympathy and concern.

“They have claws,” Ella continues.

“Ella, you’re too smart for this,” says Wolfgang.

She glowers, poking at her eggs with her fork, then studies him for signs of dishonesty.

“They’re like the Harry Potter ones,” she says dully, crunching her toast.

Wolfgang looks at Kala again, starting to smile. “She doesn’t believe in witches or Santa, but she believes in pool mermaids.”

Kala laughs and looks affectionately at Ella. “Well, children aren’t consistent.”

“She is. She’s a scientist, there’s some methodology here,” he mumbles. “Why do you believe in mermaids and not witches, huh?”

Ella swallows noisily and slurps some juice, eager to answer. “Because witches are lies. People lied about them.”

“And mermaids?”

“There’s real stories about them,” replies Ella.

He laughs. “There are real stories about witches.”

“No!” insists Ella. “They made those up.”

“Who?” he asks.

“The hat men,” says Ella primly, gesturing as if wearing a tall hat.

Wolfgang squints. “Priests?” She nods and he continues to laugh, murmuring to Kala, “What?”

Kala starts to laugh too, furtively toeing his side; he squeezes her foot and they both laugh harder.

“Who told you that, Ell?” he asks.

“Luna!” she replies, digging into her eggs again.

Wolfgang shakes his head. “You don’t think the stories about mermaids are lies too? Why?”

She shrugs and breaks her toast in two. “Why would someone lie about mermaids?”

He and Kala meet eyes again, still chuckling; she smiles, eyes wrinkling, as she lifts her mug to her lips. He smiles too, helpless to the power of being with both of them, the unusual peace and comfort. He takes her free hand and lifts it to his mouth to kiss it and she grins wide, stroking his cheekbone and his scruff; he doesn’t want to be free of her touch for the rest of the day, and it seems she doesn’t either. She presses her toes against him again and he slides his hand up to rub her knee.

Ella jumps up to take her empty plate to the sink, then runs out of the room. Wolfgang breathes out quietly, drinking his coffee, and says in a still-scratchy tone, “She can stay with Felix tonight.”

Kala smiles regretfully. “I have to go to a party.”

He nods, disappointed, and leans to rest his forehead on hers. She puts her hand on his cheek and kisses him.

“I want another night with you, too,” she tells him softly. “Tomorrow, I promise…”

He closes his eyes, focusing on her warmth. He wants an opportunity to take his time with her; last night was better than any he can remember, but it was overdue, both of them needy and rushed; he wants endless time alone with her to explore and experiment, something he can’t remember wanting with anyone else.

“You can’t cancel?” he asks halfheartedly.

She laughs. “No. Otherwise I would.”

“Okay, I’ll make you dinner tomorrow,” he replies, “and send Ella into the city with a map and some money, she’ll be okay--”

Kala laughs and bumps her nose on his. “No.”

They pull away and look into each other’s eyes, softening, fingers brushing under the table. She breathes in deeply, warm to the touch, and then glances down through thick lashes. He realizes he wants this familiarity with her more than he wants to pretend he doesn’t, but he knows he’s weeks from confirming his feelings aloud. He wonders distantly how long he has before she grows suspicious or insecure, but forces the worries away; she’s here now, and her eyes tell him that she has faith in him.

He feels a twinge of pity for her, sure he’ll leave or cheat though he has no intention to, no desire to; it simply feels inevitable given his history; it doesn’t matter that she’s different -- it matters that he is.

“Wolfgang?” she asks.

She’s too perceptive to let his unspoken worries slide. He breathes out, caught, and looks at her warily as he pulls away.

“I don’t want to fuck this up,” he admits quietly.

She presses her lips together and her eyelids dip as if tired. “Wolfgang.”

“See, I’m already fucking it up,” he jokes.

She relaxes and laughs, shaking her head. “No. Just…” She pauses and smiles at him, thumbing along his ear. “Try not to think so much.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, kissing her quickly.

They look up at the patter of feet and see Ella in a turquoise swimsuit with goldfish on it. “Ready!"

Wolfgang’s lips twitch in disapproval. “Ella, you’ll freeze, get dressed--"

Ella lifts the straps of her suit enthusiastically and lets them snap into place. She crouches down before straightening and stomping her feet. Wolfgang glances at Kala.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he says with a gentle laugh.

She grins. “I can handle it.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he replies.

_She_ smiles, understanding, but can’t speak before Ella groans and says “ _Papa_.” They both look at her again and she blinks at them with big eyes, playing with one of her curls.

“Get dressed or the pool mermaids will get you,” says Wolfgang. 

“That’s not how it works,” says Ella, disappointed, but she turns and romps into her bedroom.

Wolfgang looks at Kala again, but she looks down; her smile falters just slightly and she breathes in before meeting his eyes, steady. “This is what I want.”

He nods solemnly and takes a deep breath, then laughs as he says, “Okay.”

She laughs too, pressing closer, and their eyes flash into each other’s before they kiss deeply. She sighs into his mouth and he takes her face in his hands. They linger, he tastes the coffee on her lips and smiles, and she thumbs over both of his ears.

“Okay,” she repeats as she pulls away, beaming. She nods shakily. “Okay.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kala and Wolfgang go on their first real date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very self-indulgent lol. The next one has more substance ;)

Wolfgang stirs a skillet of pasta, sipping on a beer to distract himself while he waits for Kala to arrive.

It's his first night alone with her. A small apartment and the constant presence of his needy six-year-old wasn't conducive to date night, so the most they had done in the last few days was talk late into the night and make love as quietly as possible. They hadn't gotten the chance to take their time with each other but tonight, without any distractions, they can.

He looks into the skillet of pesto linguine and shakes it slightly, then adjusts the music he put on a moment ago, quiet jazz guitar.

He’s just turned back to the pasta when he hears a knock at the door. He glances at his watch and swears softly. He should have figured Kala as someone who arrives a bit early.

He flips the dishcloth over his shoulder and checks the setting on the stove -- a habit he began after Ella was born -- and goes to the door, running his hand through his hair. He opens it and breathes out heavily, relaxing at the sight of Kala, who is hugging herself in the cold, a furry hood framing bright eyes and a faint smile.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

She grins instantly and steps inside, kissing him before he has a chance to shut the door. He chuckles against her lips, then takes a sharp breath through his nose as the kiss deepens. She wraps her arms around his neck and he hugs her against him, and they break apart only when a gust of icy wind whooshes through the door.

He flicks the door shut and nudges her hood down; she brushes a stray droplet from a curl that escaped the protection of the jacket and slowly blinks, then stretches to kiss him again, more briefly. He shuts his eyes, lingering on her taste, and slides his hands down to her hips.

“It smells good in here,” she says.

He opens his eyes and smiles. “Thanks.”

She rubs her fingers on a spot of flour on his shirt. “You cooked?”

“I said I would,” he replies. “It’s not done, you’re early.”

“Barely,” she says, but she smiles and kisses him before stepping away and taking her coat off.

He watches red fabric emerge from under the wool and his breath stops as she turns, revealing a crimson dress with a sash around the waist and a deep V-neck. She breathes out, somewhat shaky, and hugs herself while she waits for a response. He expected some of the anticipation to fade after sleeping with her the first time, but it only intensified, and he forces himself to swallow and nod.

“You look…” He was going to say _gorgeous_ , but continues, “like we aren’t going to make it through dinner.”

She jostles with him, trying not to laugh. “Wolfgang!”

He grins and presses a quick kiss to her mouth. “You look nice. You know we aren’t going out,” he adds, gesturing at his Berlin Fire tee-shirt and jeans.

“I know. Did you want me to wear something else?” she asks after another kiss.

“No,” he admits.

She smiles and bumps her nose on his, then chirps, “I’m starving.”

He nods and slides his hand down until it reaches hers, then pulls her toward the kitchen, where they look at the pasta.

“You’re supposed to cook it in the sauce for a bit,” she observes as it bubbles. “And add some of the pasta water. Because of the starch."

He glances at her indignantly. “Okay, nonna.”

She smiles, undeterred, and dips her finger in the sauce to taste it. She exclaims with her lips still around her finger, eyebrows perked. 

“Oh, it’s good!”

He brightens. "You like it?"

She nods, smiling, and he gives a quiet, relieved laugh and kisses her quickly. Then he lets her go, reaching for the bottle of red wine he picked up for her, and pours her a big glass. He pulls a beer from the fridge and pours it, then steps into the laundry room to grab the flowers he hid from view, big white peonies that Ella helped pick out.

Kala's eyes go soft when she sees them and she sets her wine down, tilting her head. "Oh... you didn't have to do this..." She kisses him as he reaches her and takes the bouquet into her hands. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her lips drawn into a joyful smile as she smells the flowers. "I love them."

She carefully sets the flowers on the table and puts her arms around his neck. He moves his hands along her waist and lets his head rest on hers, breathing in deeply. 

“I didn’t expect this,” she goes on quietly.

“Why not?” he asks.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect from a first date...I feel we've done everything backward...we talked about such serious things before we were together and now we've slept together before officially dating and I...I didn't know if you wanted to do something traditional like this." She smiles gently. "I'm glad you do."

He nods and smiles too, holding her closer. She looks down and shakes her head softly, then meets his gaze again, her eyes brilliant and playful.

"Do you want to eat?" she asks.

He looks at her lips, lost in her warmth, then tucks her hair behind her ear. "No."

She lifts her brows just a touch. "No?"

He looks into her eyes, smirking slightly. "No."

"Well...you have to...because I'm starving," she tells him. "And I want to talk for a while before we have sex..."

"Why's that?" he asks, amused.

"Talking makes it better," she says; she flushes but doesn't look away, and her grip grows a little tighter on him. "Why do you think it was so good after the Christmas party? We'd both thought about each other for hours...and talked...and kissed..." She smiles. "So I hope you prepared several courses."

He nods, laughing, and she kisses him softly; then she rests her arms around his neck and looks into his eyes.

"I missed you last night," she murmurs.

He missed her too, but it seems like a silly thing to admit after one night spent apart.

"I sleep better with you," she adds.

"I don't sleep better with you," he replies.

She grins and plays with his ear, a habit of hers he secretly loves. "I know. But I don't care."

"At least you don't sleepwalk," he says.

"Oh, I do, you just haven't experienced that yet," she jokes.

"Great," he says.

They laugh together and she pulls him back towards the stove. He plates up some pasta and salad and she puts the flowers in a vase on the table, then lights the candles next to it, glancing at him with a warm smile for paying attention to details like this.

"We could do this every week," she suggests, sipping her wine. "I can cook for you next week, we can go back and forth..."

He sits across from her and uncaps his beer. "Yeah, okay."

She bites her bottom lip, curious and affectionate. "You haven't been on a date before, have you? Not a date like this..."

He drinks his beer. "No, you?"

"Yes, imagine something like this," she replies, gesturing at the dinner table with a fork full of pasta, "but with someone you can't stand plus your mother, your aunt, and your sister. Then imagine going home for two hours of what your aunt calls constructive criticism but is actually just criticism about how you behaved all night. And imagine your sister keeping you up the rest of the night with questions about the person you're dating, all very personal questions that you have no idea how to answer, because with your mother and aunt in attendance you never get the chance to talk about anything more than the food."

"Can I ask you something?" he says in response.

"Yes, of course."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "How did you stop yourself from killing everyone around you--"

She cuts him off with a laugh. "Oh, I don't know, every one of those dates was absolutely miserable...I used to go home afterward and take a bath to wash it all off of me..."

Wolfgang glances at her, sipping his beer. One day he'll ask her what she felt in the days leading up to her wedding; he'll ask how she went through with it when every fiber of her heart was fighting it.

"Wolfgang?" she asks, surprised by his expression.

"I'm sorry," he replies, his voice deep and quiet.

She blinks slowly, drinking her wine. "I know, but it was a long time ago...I want to be able to laugh about some of it now..."

"You're too good for them," he tells her, surprised how naturally words like this form lately.

"My family?" aks Kala.

"They should have noticed what you were feeling," he replies.

She glances down with a distant smile, swirling some pasta on her fork. "Oh, I'm not sure you understand how things work there..."

He mirrors her expression, agreeing. But he murmurs, "No, I'm sure I don't, but that doesn't mean I can't be..." He shrugs slightly. "Can't be angry for you."

She meets his eyes, smiling, then stretches to gently kiss him. He holds her face in his hands while she lingers, the taste of wine still on her lips.

"I used to be afraid of talking to you about any of this," she admits. "I thought you might think I was a coward for doing what everyone expected of me." She glances towards the fire he started in the woodstove. "And maybe I am, but you've never made me feel that way. I just...never saw myself with anyone at all, so if I had to be with someone, I thought I should be with someone who could help my family."

He shakes his head, taking a moment before replying, "My mom did something similar."

Kala looks at him, startled, and swipes a bit of bread through the rich pesto sauce on her plate, raising her brows at him so he continues.

He shrugs, drinking more beer. "Her family was traditional. She was going to get an abortion, but she couldn't do it, so she married my father instead."

"Oh," says Kala. "So they didn't mean to have you?"

"No, they barely knew each other," admits Wolfgang, stopping short of the full story. "She didn't know how to tell her parents what happened so she talked him into marrying her. She knew that would be easier on them than the truth."

"I don't imagine that was easier on her, though," says Kala, eyes soft.

He shakes his head. "No. She shouldn't have had me."

"God, it must be so strange to believe that...there isn't some small part of you that's glad she had you?"

He considers, then gives a small shake of his head. "I don't know. She didn't deserve anything that happened to her after that. And she wouldn't have stayed with him if she didn't have me."

"Well, you can't blame yourself--"

"No, I don't mean that," he interrupts, voice warmer and more relaxed than he expected it to be. "I just wish she hadn't been so afraid of her family. She would have done the right thing if they weren't around."

Kala nods. "You mean she would have gotten an abortion?"

He nods. "I know that I'd...I'd tell El to do that if she was ever in my mom's place, because I..." He stops, aware that this conversation got away from him. "I don't know how anyone looks at the kid the way they should after something like that."

Kala stiffens slightly, understanding, then breathes out and says, "Oh. She told you that's what happened to her?"

"No," he replies, mouth twisting slightly. "No, my father did. He bragged to me about it when I was sixteen."

"Oh, God," says Kala, repulsed.

"Yeah," he mutters. "He was constantly drunk. Didn't remember telling me when I asked him later."

"I'm sorry," Kala murmurs. "I -- I don't know what to say to you sometimes. Your life has been so much harder than mine, sometimes I feel so naive--"

"You know what to say, babe," he interrupts. "And I wouldn't want to talk to someone who's been through any of that."

"Even though they could understand you better?" asks Kala, unsure.

He takes a drink of beer and leans back a bit in his chair. "I'm not sure how much that matters."

Kala glances at him, curious, less mournful. "That's all anyone ever talks about. Being understood."

He gives a slight shake of his head. "There are things I'll never understand about you and there are things you'll never understand about me."

She nods. "I suppose it's a bit silly to think we could understand everything about each other...that's impossible on earth, isn't it?"

He glances at her. "On earth?"

"Oh, I think things become clearer when we die," she explains. "I think we understand things about ourselves and each other that we couldn't hope to understand while we're alive. In fact, I think we barely understand anything while we're here." She smiles, slightly pained. "And I think we waste so much time trying to understand why so many horrible things happen...time we could all use just to care for each other."

He watches her, in love with her.

"You don't think understanding that could prevent some of it?" he asks after a moment.

"I don't know," she admits. "I studied quite a lot of psychology in college and I loved it...I loved understanding my own behavior better...but I think that kind of understanding gets less useful the more extreme the situation is..." She sips her wine and glances at the fire again. "They make you study patterns of abuse so you can recognize them as a teacher, and I remember..." She shakes her head. "...at the time, the predominant theory was that it was all cyclical...that no one is born with those tendencies, but instead they are conditioned and socialized...and I remember there was a girl in my class who always fought with the teacher about that. She said that some people are evil, and that the source of that is inexplicable...and I was surprised how everyone disagreed with her."

Wolfgang takes a slow breath. "I don't disagree with her."

"I did at first," murmurs Kala. "Then I started to think about how many people have experienced things I can barely imagine." Her voice softens. "I was so privileged to be able to study those things as pure theory."

He glances down, considering. She's the only person he's ever enjoyed having conversations like this with; the only person he wants to get lost in the weeds with; the only person he doesn't mind discussing what's perplexing or unbearable.

"Well, if you're too close to something, you fuck it up," he replies finally.

"Oh, I don't think that's true...the best activists are always the ones who have been through whatever hardship they're fighting against...but I think you have to be the right kind of person for that."

He shakes his head slowly, finishing the last creamy inch of beer. "No, you're right, but I mean..."

"You mean.. is there a reason I didn't stay in India to try to help women who went through what I did? Yes, there is," she replies, quiet. "But that reason isn't that I thought I would be bad at it. No, I thought that it might...consume me."

"That's why I didn't become a cop," he tells her, surprised by his own clarity. "I would have been good at it, but I wouldn't have let go of some cases." His jaw tenses slightly and he looks away from her. "That happens sometimes even with this job."

"How?" she asks.

"It's hard to see reminders," he admits, "but it isn't my job to put anyone away. I'm never the one making promises."

"I would never want that responsibility," says Kala solemnly. "I can't imagine trying to bring peace to someone by catching whoever had..." She shakes her head, eyes glazing. "Whoever had hurt them." She glances down, pushing her fork into a last whirl of pasta and takes a moment. "I felt guilty for a long time, choosing to leave and live a life that had nothing to do with how I grew up. I felt that I should be the one to change things. But I was tired. Is it silly to be tired when you're twenty?"

"No," he says immediately, adding, "and you do change things."

She looks at him, smiling slightly. "Do I?"

"Ella's different around you," he says.

"Ella," says Kala, grinning, "is friendlier and sillier than you think, and her disposition this year has nothing to do with me. She's six, her mind is developing in every way you can think of."

"No, I thought she'd hate you," he argues. "She has a very..." He trails off, laughing. "She has a strict admissions policy."

Kala laughs too. "That's a good quality. She makes sure people are worthy of her."

"Or she's afraid to let people in," he replies.

"I wonder where she got that, how strange, you're nothing like that--"

"Okay," he says.

"--I really can't imagine why your child might have that quality--"

"You're the one who wouldn't go on a date with me--"

"Not because I was afraid of opening up!"

He smirks, relaxing despite the somber conversation earlier. "Okay, why?"

She finishes her wine. "Do you want me to answer that truthfully?"

"Yes, of course, go on," he replies.

"I thought you were going to get me into bed and then completely abandon me."

He nods. "I can still completely abandon you."

She grins helplessly, then laughs into her hand, her elbow crooked on the table. He starts to laugh too, trailing his fingers along her other palm. She startles happily at the feeling and her eyes jump into his, bright and enlivened.

He almost didn't joke like that, worried her insecurities could overwhelm their connection. But now that he sees how naturally she laughs, he relaxes. And while he's caught in this current of ease and hope, his restraint almost fails him. He nearly says, "No babe, you know I love you."

He catches himself as the first words leave his lip and her eyes tell him that she understood what he wanted to say. He plays gently with her fingers and her gaze shines in the scattered firelight. They stay like this for a moment and then a new urge enters their eyes.

 

***

Wolfgang slows his pace as Kala breathes out on his mouth, as she loses her eyes in his. She moans his name, her voice breaking slightly, and he groans at the sound before kissing her. She arches her back to be closer and he kisses her neck, pushing deeper into her body; her legs latch loosely around his waist and he slowly pulls up, nose on hers, her eyes drifting in and out of his like a lighthouse beacon.

“Oh." She breathes out in response to a surge of emotion. “Wolfgang…”

He drinks in his name in her mouth. He’s never had sex with a woman who cares about him; it’s strange to hear his name moaned with meaning, helplessly. He wonders if she would hide it if she could, if she would be more like him, detached and full of needless hunger. He knows he could be more like her, giving and honest, if only he let himself be.

He breathes in, lips brushing hers; if she was any other woman, he wouldn’t speak, but he wants to speak for her. “Kala,” he says, barely audible, and the release of saying her name is so intoxicating that he repeats himself. “Kala…”

She slides her fingers through his hair; he moves his touch along her arms and urges them up, over her head, and then entwines his fingers with hers and presses the backs of her hands hard against the mattress as he thrusts more forcefully into her. She stops breathing, her tummy tightening under his, and lets out a last, hostage breath before trembling; she nods, nose moving against his, asking for release.

He drives into her, slow but deep. She moans into his mouth as they kiss, and then he lifts slightly to look into her eyes. He pulls one hand down to caress her face, one of her breasts; she exhales all at once, almost a cry, as she pounds around him; he thrusts harder into her and her legs fall slightly more open around him while her hands slowly track his back.

She tucks her face gently against his neck and arches her back again, then moves with him, matching his energy; his blood surges and he comes with a quiet groan, his fingers clenching in her hair, and he brings her face closer as he rests his forehead on hers. She slides her foot along the back of his leg and hugs him, grip soft and spent.

She touches the bridge of her nose to his after a moment, close to tears; he doesn’t let himself linger too long on the idea that this made her cry, though he would understand -- he wants to crush her in a hug, fall asleep with his head on her chest, tell her he never wants to be with anyone else.

She thumbs over his cheek and ear and tilts her mouth towards his, asking for a kiss. But he waits a moment, shifting on his side, and slides his hand slowly down her side. He lets his eyes close and he softly shakes his head.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, out of air.

She slides her hands all over his shoulders and chest, slow and spiraling like she’s been tasked to memorize his details. She moves her fingertips to his face and he sees her expression slightly tremble; her eyes grow glossier and he inhales, no longer able to ignore the emotion she’s experiencing.

He brushes his thumb under her eye to collect her tears and she smiles.

“Main tumse pyaar karthee hoon…” she mumbles, flushing.

She presses closer, meeting him in a gentle kiss. He smoothes his hand over her side and lets it rest on her hip.

“What did you say?” he asks after a moment.

“Oh,” she says, barely audible, lashes fluttering. “I said you feel good…”

Her tone is unconvincing but he doesn’t challenge her. He kisses her again, eyes slipping shut. They stay in a close embrace, drifting and high on each other's taste, the snowy wind and sounds of the street distant below them.

He's nearly asleep when she pulls back to glance at him, borderline playful despite the lingering tears in her eyes.

"What?" he asks.

"Did you make dessert?"

His mouth twitches. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I have a craving..."

"I can make you something," he says.

Ten minutes later, they're sitting on his couch with a pint of chocolate ice cream and two glasses of wine. She's wearing one of his old, overlarge oxfords and nothing else, and her lips are dark and soft with the chocolate droplets. The woodstove has become their only source of light, the latest winter storm causing all the lamps to flicker; but the stereo trudges on, the outlet it's plugged into untouched by the outage, and they sit close to each other while the music plays.

Kala extends her leg past Wolfgang, shifting slightly closer to him, and touches the bridge of her nose to his; she smiles, eyes bright, and pulls her fingertips along his jaw, and he chuckles and moves his hands under her shirt, holding her closer by her hips. He studies her, dark dewy skin framed by the white shirt, her breasts barely hidden under it, her hair tousled from how often he’s put his hands through it; the light from the fire flashes on her skin and her eyes glisten.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he mumbles as he kisses her.

She inhales, melting against him, and flushes deeply.

He tilts his head so that his lips find her neck, and gives her a gentle nibble. She murmurs in approval, tracing her hands slowly down his chest, and he tenses when they reach his waistband. She pulls back to look at him, slightly shy.

"Have you told anyone about us?" she wonders.

"What do you mean?" he replies.

"Felix, Will," she explains. "I know they saw us at the party, but did you tell them this is...serious?"

He hesitates. "I didn't say that to them, but I think they know. Why?"

"I don't want to tell my friends yet," she replies. "But I don't want you to feel that I'm hiding you, or ashamed of you...I just...I want you to myself before I have to answer so many questions."

He nods, then chuckles. "Yeah, I wish I could hide you from Felix."

She gives a tiny grin. "No one will give us a harder time than my sister."

"Doubt that," says Wolfgang. "Felix is going to react to this the way he reacted to me keeping Ella."

"How was that?" she asks, taking the pint of ice cream from him to spoon some out.

"Like I'd gone insane," replies Wolfgang, adding as he tugs the pint back, "understandable, I was a shitty boyfriend, irresponsible..."

"Yes, obviously," she taunts.

"Says the girl who won't use a condom," he replies.

She laughs, blushing, and points at him with her spoon. "I can't get pregnant!"

"I've heard that one before, only cost me my freedom and the next eighteen years of my life--"

"Oh hush, Ella's the best thing that ever happened to you," says Kala, adding with a laugh, "do you think I would like you so much if you acted the way you use to? No, this never would have worked if we met years ago..."

"I don't know," he says honestly. "You could have been on a vacation in Berlin..."

She plays along. "I could have started an affair with you..."

He nods, taking a bite of ice cream. "That would have given his family a different reason to hate you."

"Yes, he might have killed you. Well, tried to kill you, honestly that attempt would have been quite embarrassing to witness..." She sips her wine. "I think that may have been easier...at least I would have felt their dislike of me was fair...at least I would have been the one to do something wrong..."

"Not sure how wrong that is," he says.

She eyes him. "You're not sure how wrong having an affair is? Oh, how sweet, good, I'm glad you've told me this--"

He puts up his hand, shaking his head and laughing. "No, only if the relationship is bad."

"Oh, only if the relationship is bad, well then of course...it's senseless to break up first...no, much smarter to have an affair..."

"You didn't think about it?" he asks her, trying to stop laughing.

"With who?" asks Kala, face bright from laughter and wine.

"Ah, that guy, the one you called interesting--"

"Mm, you're jealous," she says with profound satisfaction, teasing him with a touch along the bottom of his jaw. Then she snorts, her eyebrows jumping. "Oh my God, Ajay? No! No, you're the only man I've ever felt any of this for. You and..." She licks a bit of chocolate off of her thumb. "George Clooney."

"Okay," he says.

"But the ER version of George Clooney," she adds.

"Right."

"Yes, I'd let him take me to the hospital if you know what I--"

"Okay," he laughs, pressing her down into the couch, thumbs digging in her sides; she cries out in laughter, kneeing him, dodging a kiss, and he knocks the pint of ice cream onto the floor. "Oh, shit--"

"Oh, good job--"

"Kala," he says after he nabs the pint, pinning her on the couch with his elbows on either side of her head.

She smiles, slightly smug. "Wolfgang?"

"Be quiet," he says, taking her face in his hands and kissing her.

She softens underneath him, letting the kiss deepen, voicing a weak, quiet sound of affirmation. The jaunty spirit between them transforms into something more serious after a moment; he feels an uptake in her breath and when her eyes shift into his, they're bright and blown.

She gives the slightest raise of her brows and he moves his hand between her legs; her thighs are slippery and his breath stops at the idea of tasting her, but he waits. He slides two fingers slowly between her folds, barely teasing her clit, and her breath catches. He watches her for a moment, noting the new brightness of her skin from sweat, the way her nipples perked at the first brush between her legs, the sudden needy clench of her fingers on his arms.

“Open your legs, babe,” he mumbles at her.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly; she stares at him as if frozen, so he nudges her thigh and coaxes her to set her calf on the coffee table. He slides his fingers up, stroking the triangle of soft hair just above her folds, and moves higher to cup one of her breasts; he kisses her lingeringly and she moans into his mouth as he returns his touch between her legs.

"Wolfgang…”

He was half-hard while talking to her, but his cock twitches impatiently at her voice; he inhales to steady himself and thumbs gently over her clit. She shivers and presses closer, and her nipples just brush his chest; his eyes flash into hers, electric, and he moves his hands again to her breasts. She looks into his eyes, mouth open, and he massages both of her breasts, pushing them together and up, then letting them fall. Kala chases a kiss, smiling now, and he grins lightly against her lips.

She murmurs and weaves her fingers through his hair, meeting his eyes. He pushes the shirt off of her shoulders so she’s naked again, then slips off the couch onto his knees in front of her. He meets her eyes, composed, and she stares back, unable to breathe as he tongues over his bottom lip.

She exhales loudly, suddenly, when he kisses her thigh.

He nips her here, eyes slipping shut, and then he pauses. Her skin is satin against his tongue and she smells distinctly of citrus and lavender.

“Did you put on lotion?” he asks with a slight smirk.

She flushes. “I was hoping you would do this...so yes...lotion."

He comes closer, meeting her eyes quickly before kissing her hip bone. He’s wanted to do this to her since meeting her, so he’ll take as much time as he can, kiss and lick every inch of her, except where she desperately wants him to. He’ll make her wait for that.

He moves back to her thighs, kissing and occasionally nibbling, his hands busy stroking her hips, her breasts, the outside of her legs. He tugs her closer as he kisses up and down her thighs and she murmurs happily; after a moment he tongues into her belly button and she says his name through a laugh, tangling her hand in his hair. He chuckles against her skin and sucks on her thigh, as close as possible to her folds, leaving a slight pink mark.

“Should I leave you a reminder?” he jokes quietly. “Just for you, no one else would see it…”

She laughs. “Mmhmm, just--”

But he doesn’t let her continue, biting her softly, making her stop her speech with a gasp; he sucks the spot he bit and she groans breathily. He breathes out, starting to lose himself in her, and finally brushes his lips between her legs. She tugs on his hair, stunned by sensation, and he brushes his lips up and down again, reserving his tongue.

“Wolfgang,” she says, voice almost broken.

He goes back to her thighs.

“God,” she whispers, pleading now.

He kisses the inside of her knee, then licks up her thigh, just an inch; he can tell her breath has grown rapid and impatient, and he’s hungry for this too -- he wants to feel her heat against his tongue. He reaches to caress her breasts again and finds that she’s already touching herself here, so he matches his fingers with hers for a moment before slowly sliding them down, taking her hips, and tugging her to the very edge of the couch.

He looks briefly into her eyes before finally tonguing between her folds; his eyes slip shut and he groans quietly, the sound melding with her equally soft moan. She opens her legs more widely, tilting her hips up, and he slowly licks and sucks her slit. She brings his head closer with both hands, fingers winding through his hair, and moans again; she starts to move against him, already close, and he sucks gently on her clit. She gives a long, loud, shuddering moan and whispers, “Yes, yes...” and then she inhales and goes quiet -- he assumes she felt a surge of modesty, so he pulls back, and tells her not to stop.

He kisses back up her thigh, then continues to lick and taste her. She murmurs, still quiet, but after a moment dissolves into heavy, melodic moans. He groans just at the sound and grips her hips hard as he tongues forcefully against her. She gives a keen, breathy shout, her legs tightening around his head as she comes, and he sucks softly along the lips of her pussy to feel her quiver against him. He pulls away after a long moment and lingers on her thighs, kissing and nuzzling them; she moans feebly, her hand slipping out of his hair as if she doesn’t have the strength to keep it up.

“Oh my God…God...” she mumbles, sitting forward to put her arms around him and lean her forehead lightly on his.

He kisses her and nudges her nose with his, smiling, drunk on her taste and her sound.

“Wolfgang,” she goes on.

He kisses her again, more deeply; she leans closer, all her weight on him, and suddenly they tumble together; he keeps her close as they fall and they end up on the floor in front of the woodstove, tangled and laughing, eyes bright with amusement and love.

“Oh no,” she whispers, more flushed than he’s ever seen her.

He turns onto his back and she snuggles against him, tucking her head against his chest; they stay this way for a moment, and then she presses a long kiss to his jaw and noses his ear.

"Let me now..." she murmurs, reaching to take his length in her hand.

He looks at her and tucks her hair out of her face, then kisses her again; his fingers gently clench on her hip as she pumps his cock in her hand.

"I don't really know how to do this," she whispers on his lips.

"Yes you do," he mumbles; he barely hears her.

"Mm, no," she says, but she isn't shy as she begins to kiss down his body, her hair tickling him as she moves, her lips and tongue hot on his skin; he makes himself take a breath, watching her, and he puts a hand in her hair to help keep it away from her face; she glances at him, gaze delicate and tender, and he grows still, unprepared for the barefaced love in her eyes. He's never had a woman look at him like this, especially not in a moment like this; it hits him that she wants to do this, wants to, because of what she feels for him and this intention translates in her touch; she smiles slightly and a hot-cold thrill shoots down his legs before she sinks her mouth over him.

He watches her more than he ever watched any other girl, mesmerized by the way her lips slide, by the gentle noises she makes; she lifts up and tilts her head occasionally, her lips growing sloppier, slightly swollen. He watches her shoulders work in the firelight as she increases her pace, surprised that she is as lost in this as he is.

He didn't expect to experience such distinct and intense feelings of love while watching her go down on him. He expected some distance, thought the more primal part of his mind would overwhelm the nuance and depth of his feelings for her. He never thought it would feel appropriate to tell her he loves her right now, but he wants to.

She works her mouth a little further down and he groans quietly, fingers tugging on her curls; he doesn't last long and she pulls up a bit as he comes, face glowing, a breathy laugh drowning his final heady exhale.

"Oh," she whispers, thumbing along one of her breasts to clean herself up.

He leans up to touch his thumb to the corner of her messy mouth and finds himself a bit dizzy.

She grins and shakes her head to show she doesn't mind the mess. They kiss consumingly for a moment, wet with each other's sweat despite the freezing night, and he floats in the feeling of her fingers in his hair. She drifts out of the kiss after a while, tucking her face against his chest, and he keeps her close.

Then he chuckles, realizing they're on his living room floor. She laughs too, meeting his eyes, more at ease than he's ever seen her.

"Let's go to bed," she says, thumbing over his stubble, eyes distant and dreamy.

But he stays still for a moment. He kisses her gently, willing every unspoken word into the kiss, and her lips twitch in a smile against his.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfgang has a harrowing shift on New Year's Eve. Kala helps Ella realize that fireworks are cool. Felix is a royal pain in the ass, until he isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I don't know if firefighters act as paramedics in Germany the way they do in the U.S., but I couldn't be bothered to research it. Just assume that firefighters often have paramedic duties. :)
> 
> 2\. I've always been curious about the scene in Season 1 where Wolfgang is at Felix's bedside, talking about how his mother "had a secret inside of her" and how "he was once a secret too." Her arc in this fic centers around that and you'll get the full story in the next chapter.

"You're going to make me late."

Kala is clinging to Wolfgang in the door to his room, her arms latched sleepily around his neck. She's been like this for five minutes, unwilling to let go of him after he kissed her goodbye. He rubs her back, then hugs her close, his eyes slipping shut.

"You sure you don't mind watching Ella?" he asks quietly. "She doesn't like fireworks."

She shakes her head, pulling back just enough to look up at him and smile. "No, I want to. And she'll be alright."

"We said we wouldn't do this," he reminds her.

When he had to work after Christmas, he asked Felix to watch Ella. Kala was disappointed but agreed with him that they shouldn't confuse Ella more than they already had. But then she spent two more nights at Wolfgang's place, and he spent one at hers, and Ella clearly became accustomed to seeing both of them at breakfast and both of them before she went to sleep at night.

This evening, readying for his New Year's Eve shift, Wolfgang glanced at Kala with a reluctant question on his mind. She brightened before he even had the chance to speak.

"No one else can watch her tonight," Kala says again to him now, playing with one of his ears. "It's just one night." Then she smiles. "I can act like her teacher if you want. I can make her do homework."

"Right," he laughs, squeezing her hips.

She stretches to kiss him, wrinkling her nose. "Actually..." She kisses him again. "I think we're going to watch a movie and eat ice cream..."

"She's going to like you more," replies Wolfgang.

Kala raises her brows. "Maybe she would like you more if you weren't a hardass."

"I let that kid get away with everything," he argues.

Kala grins and shakes her head, tousling with him. "Hardass."

"Pushover," he retorts, kissing her again.

She grins and slides her hands over his shoulders, then presses her face into his chest and breathes him in. She stays here while he hugs her and he finds himself smiling gently, easily.

"Kala," he says unwillingly after a moment.

"Okay," she sighs; she kisses him again, keeping him close while she looks in his eyes, "be safe."

He nods and she releases him. He picks up his bag and walks out of the bedroom, kneeling to hug Ella near the door. She ignores him, coloring, so he nabs the crayon she's using.

"Papa," she complains, reaching for it.

He holds it back and looks at her. "Be good for Kala."

She sighs, antsy. "I know. I'm using that!"

"Ella," he says sternly.

"Okay! Give me my crayon."

He gives her the crayon and kisses the side of her head, then goes out the door after brushing Kala's arm.

Kala stands still for a moment. The apartment feels different now that she's alone with Ella. Her doubts quickly creep up on her. She's the closest thing this child has ever had to a mother, and she knows she has to walk a careful line. But she's unsure where the line is, and even less sure that she can successfully navigate it when she finds it. She nearly jolts when Ella jumps up and half-yells, "Miss Kala?"

"Ella?" she replies.

"Will you draw with me?" Ella asks.

Kala nods, then she lifts Ella up, settling her on her hip.

"But first...let's do jammies, and do you want something to eat?"

"No," says Ella cheerfully.

"No?" checks Kala. "Okay. Jammies."

"Does papa have to work tonight?" Ella asks.

Kala smiles and kisses the side of her head while they walk towards her room. "Papa has to work."

"Okay," sighs Ella, tucking her face against Kala's hair.

***

"This blows, man," sighs Felix, heaving a heavy rubber mat next to one of the fire engines. "When was the last time we actually got to celebrate New Years?"

"Before Ella was born," mumbles Wolfgang, checking off a list by the counter and drinking the first of many cups of coffee.

"Exactly! We get stuck with this stupid gig every year and it's always the shittiest. I'll quit if another idiot sets a firework off their head tonight -- I don't need to see any more crispy brain matter, okay?"

"That sounds like something you'd do," says Wolfgang, ticking off a safety specification on his list.

Will walks behind him, then leans on the counter, eating some leftover Christmas dinner out of a mug. "We're doing four teams this year, two fire, two EMS. You guys are EMS because Wolfgang needs more of those hours for his degree. I'll be with you guys too."

Felix groans, checking the engine tires. "I'm blaming you for all the fucked-up stuff we see tonight, Wolfie." Then he sniffs towards Will. "Smells good. What is that?"

Will gestures with his fork, annoyed. "Why don't you ever have food?"

Felix begins to defend himself, but Wolfgang mentions that he brought extra dinner -- an anomaly, considering he usually has just enough food for himself, or too little. A telling pause follows

"Hey," says Felix slowly, pretending to be confused. "So, who's watching Ella tonight?"

"I got a sitter," says Wolfgang.

Will doesn't bother to hide a chuckle. "Okay. Is that what you're calling Kala now?"

Wolfgang picks up his coffee and doesn't look at them.

"C'mon, you were all over each other on Christmas," says Felix. "Surprised you didn't sneak into the bathroom to fuck."

Wolfgang glances at Will, hoping for assistance, but Will just drinks his coffee. "I was surprised too."

"She went home by herself," Wolfgang says, going back to his list.

Like Kala, he wanted his relationship with her to himself for a while. He wanted to protect it.

"Seriously?" asks Felix, a bit disappointed now. "What happened?"

"I decided to wait until marriage," Wolfgang deflects, pouring more coffee from the old pot they keep in the garage.

Will shakes his head. "He doesn't want to tell us because he's freaked out by how much he likes her."

"I'd tell you," says Wolfgang.

"You're full of shit," says Felix dully.

Then Wolfgang's phone dings on the counter. Time slows as he and Felix reach for it, both lunging. Will's voice is a distant, distorted "seeeeriiouusly, guuuys?" as the phone clatters to the floor and Felix emerges with his hand gripped around it. Anyone else would blanch at the look in Wolfgang's eyes, but Felix developed an immunity to that long ago, and he looks at the phone's display. He lets out an uncivil, victorious huff, and reads aloud.

" _Babe, where is the ice cream scoop?_ And you saved her in your phone without a last name, you're so fucked--"

Wolfgang tries to take the phone from Felix, who struggles with him and scrolls up to read older texts, which reveal an extensive conversation he had with Kala while she was at the market yesterday.

"You're texting about potatoes. Potatoes. Fuck, there's a hundred VMs on here too, you're married--"

Wolfgang twists Felix's wrist back and elbows him in the chest, freeing the phone.

"Ow, fuck!" hisses Felix, shaking his hand out. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You deserved that," Will informs him, adding to Wolfgang after a bite of food, "Sounds like it's going well. I'm happy for you, man."

Wolfgang texts back that he doesn't have an ice cream scoop. He pockets his phone and drinks his coffee, refusing to acknowledge Will or Felix for a moment. The only person he tolerates being vulnerable around is Kala. He waits for an interruption of some kind, but none comes.

"I thought love would make him less, you know, surly," Felix finally remarks.

"Apparently not," replies Will, adding, "alright, upstairs, shift starts in five."

***

Kala frowns, searching for a missing sock in the laundry.

"Are you sure it's here?" she asks Ella, digging through dino-prints and florals. Ella insisted on yellow socks but only one was available.

"Yes," says Ella, confident and unconcerned, sticking her foot in the air.

"Well, it's..." Kala trails off, pausing, and spots the sock just under the radiator. She nabs it and gently flicks Ella's nose with it. "Here we go."

"Ew," laughs Ella.

Kala laughs too, but slows before she slides the sock on, finding Wolfgang's features in Ella. She breathes out. She isn't jealous or resentful, because she knows that even if Ella was her child, she would seek out Wolfgang's eyes, chin, cheeks; she would search for him in her, because she loves him. But she is sad, because she knows he can't seek her features the way she seeks his; her features don't exist in this little girl.

"Alright," she says, trying to smile again; she squeezes Ella's feet, then picks her up and tucks her face against her hair.

She sets her by the woodstove with her crayons after a moment.

"What do you want to draw?" she asks.

Ella picks up a purple crayon and for a moment, Kala bites back her tears; she rubs Ella's back and thrashes against the doubts that Rajan built in her. It's strange to want what he ridiculed her for being unable to have.

"A beaver," says Ella.

Kala frowns, interested. "A beaver?"

"They make cities," Ella informs her, adding, "I want to be a beaver."

Kala laughs before she can stop herself, and Ella looks up, a bit hurt.

"No, no, honey, that's a good thing to want to be," Kala says immediately. "Beavers are very smart. And they can swim underwater. And..." She bares her teeth in a playful snarl and pins Ella down. "They have these long teeth."

Ella giggles as Kala tickles her, then gasps and raises her eyebrows. "Did you know..."

Kala smiles. She makes a note to ask Wolfgang if he thinks Ella says "why?" or "did you know?" more often.

"...that beavers' teeth never stop growing?"

"I didn't know that," Kala says honestly. "Where did you learn that?"

Ella pauses, considering, then hops up and digs a few magazines from a basket by the couch. She sorts through them then presents Kala with one that has a glossy picture of baby beavers on the front. Kala presses her lips together, fighting a grin, and glances at Ella.

"Does your papa order these for you?" she asks.

Ella nods. Kala nods back, smiling at the idea of Wolfgang taking his limited salary to order educational magazines. She points to a picture of a large dam.

"Is this what you mean by cities?"

Ella nods again. "They're like...At-Atlansis."

"Atlantis?" laughs Kala, and then she says, "ooh, have you seen that movie? I bet you would love that movie... though it's a bit scary."

"I won't get scared!" Ella promises.

"Are you sure?" checks Kala.

She shakes her head rapidly, scooting closer, and Kala bites her bottom lip while she hesitates. Then she squeezes Ella's chin and nods.

"Okay," she says, jumping up to find her laptop.

  
***

"Park here," says Will, pointing out a green space on Google Maps. "Tends to be a lot of calls around here tonight. I'll go with you guys. Wolfgang, you're driving. Felix scares the shit out of me."

"Hey, who has the record for fastest arrival to a cardiac call?" complains Felix. He points at himself. "This guy."

"You ran over a cat," Wolfgang reminds him.

"Well, fuck cats!" sighs Felix, slinging his gear over his shoulder, ready to depart for the night of calls.

Wolfgang glances at Will, packing up his things, and says in a hushed voice, "Give him New Year's off next year."

"And Wolfie too, celebrating isn't the same without him," says Felix. "He finds the hottest girls."

"I think those days are over," says Will, amused.

Felix laughs as the three of them head down the echoing stairs, all heavy with gear, coffee, and food to last the night. "Right."

"They are," Wolfgang tells him, passing him on the stairs and clicking the remote to the ambulance.

Felix rushes to keep up as they go into the frigid back parking lot. "Shit, then you are serious about her..."

"I'm not talking to you about Kala," says Wolfgang, lifting himself into the ambulance and throwing his gear by the driver's seat. He familiarizes himself with the dash and adjusts his mirrors, then grabs Felix's coffee as it threatens to spill. "Felix--"

"I hate...let me reiterate...I _hate_ that I'm stuck with two guys who are both such fucking dads," says Felix.

"Maybe you wouldn't hate that if you weren't a 27-year-old child," says Will.

"Your father's right," Wolfgang says seriously.

Will cracks up, eyeing him, and Wolfgang laughs too.

"Alright, alright, write a sitcom," grumbles Felix, buckling up. Then he glances at the display on the dash and sees their destination. "Oh, fuck, that neighborhood?"

Will turns, frowning. "Weren't you paying attention earlier?"

"No, I'm drunk as all hell," says Felix.

Will balks. "Wh--"

"He's kidding," says Wolfgang, adding, "Felix, get your head out of your ass."

He drinks some coffee and texts Kala quickly to check in. She replies immediately with a short VM and he smiles, holding the phone to his ear to hear her.

"We're watching a movie, everything's fine! I like the magazines you got her, that's so sweet of you, oh and I found one of her socks under the heater. Have you been missing one?"

He smiles a little wider and says back, "A yellow one?"

He waits a moment and she texts _Yes! Okay, watching the movie..._

He sets his phone in his bag.

Will adjusts the dispatch feed and Wolfgang pulls out of the lot, the heat blasting; he hasn't spent as much time in the ambulances as he has in the engines, but from the beginning, he found he liked these more.

He doesn't mind the close quarters if he is with the right people. Will mentioned once that he liked these better too, that it was like his time in the service. That comment stuck with Wolfgang longer than he expected it to.

"Hey, Felix, any major procedures, let Wolfgang do them," says Will. "He's got to do a certain number of different things for this degree."

"I didn't know you started that," says Felix.

"I didn't," replies Wolfgang. He takes the opportunity at a red to tug off his jacket. "I'm going to though. Soon as I figure out what to do with Ella."

"Starts with a K," mumbles Felix.

"We'll count whatever work you do within a month of starting," says Will, adding, "I think you'll like the degree. It's mostly field work, some math and sociology. Not a big deal. And it's free."

"There's that American resentment," says Felix at his tone.

"I loved my country more than it loved me," says Will, glancing back. "I think I'm entitled to a little resentment."

Then a call comes in and Wolfgang's eyes flash to the display, listening to dispatch as it directs him.

***

"What is gibberish?" asks Ella, snuggled against Kala as they watch the movie on her computer, adding, "ooh, boat..." as a large ship appears on the screen.

Kala pauses in her effort to French braid Ella's hair. "Gibberish...is...a language that sounds like nonsense but it does mean something if you know how to decode it. So, I suppose it's like any language, really..."

"So he speaks gibberish?" Ella asks about a character.

"Yes, that's why he gets to go to Atlantis," explains Kala. "He's their translator." She frowns, working with Ella's hair again. "It's a very important job. The world couldn't communicate at all without translators."

"I like the lady," says Ella, pointing out a girl with a wrench and a mechanic's cap. "She's funny."

"I like her too," agrees Kala, adding, "I like this movie." She pauses, considering the subliminal white savior message. "Well, parts of this movie. The girls in it are so smart and see, she's doing something that girls almost never did back then...so you can do anything you want, I know you don't like a lot of things other girls like...but it's okay if you like being outside...studying bugs...all that is just fine--"

"Miss Kala? I can't hear the movie."

Kala snorts, pressing her face to the back of Ella's head. "Mm, you really are Wolfgang's daughter."

"What does that mean?:

"I just mean you're like your father," says Kala. "He told me to stop talking when we watched a movie this week...I talk too much apparently...but I just find all the scenes so interesting and see here, they're going underwater, do you see?"

"Yes!" sighs Ella. Then she gasps, watching a big metal monster come alongside the submarine. "Oh, look!"

"See, you're talking!" complains Kala.

"Shh!" replies Ella, leaning forward and pulling her braid out of Kala's hands.

Kala chuckles, but then a firework explodes outside, and Ella whips her head around to look through the window. Kala hugs her and nuzzles her ear with her nose.

"It's just a firework," she says gently. "I know you don't like the noise, but they can't hurt you in here."

Ella nestles closer, restless, and says, "Where's papa?"

Kala breathes out, anxious that she won't be enough for Ella tonight, and says, "Would you like to call him? Maybe his voice will make you feel better, hm?"

Ella nods and Kala takes out her phone, but Wolfgang doesn't pick up. She sighs quietly and gives Ella a squeeze, determined to make her feel better on her own.

"How about this...every time we hear one...we'll just yell at it, okay? We can yell "go away!" or anything you like, just like you yell at a big scary dog..."

Ella nods, unsure, and Kala plays the movie again.

***

"I hate this job," Felix says flatly, watching two cops argue with a group of drunk girls in the park. "I fucking hate this job."

"I'm...fine...I -- I just need some like, bread, okay?" slurs a girl next to him, fussing while Wolfgang tries to check her eyes.

"Keep your eyes open," says Wolfgang.

"I just had like, two drinks," she goes on.

"Right. How old are you?"

"Why, you want a piece of this?" she asks, then starts to cry, and stumbles off the low wall she's sitting on.

Felix helps her up and meets eyes with Wolfgang, who grew more tolerant of situations like these after Ella was born. He checks the girl's eyes and hands her a bottle of water, then glances at the other girls who are arguing with the cops about a possible underage drinking arrest.

"Ah, memories," says Felix, flipping shut the EMS kit, adding in a shout to the cops, "Eh! Just give them a ride home, they'll sleep it off! Don't be anal about it!"

"Incredible," mumbles Will next to them, smiling apologetically at the cop that shot them all a glare.

Wolfgang shakes his head, continuing to take the girl's vitals.

"This could be Ella in a few short years if you aren't careful," remarks Felix.

Wolfgang turns to stare at him, but before he can retort, the girl staggers a few feet away and throws up over the wall.

"Oh, Silvia, gosh..." mumbles one of her friends, hurrying over to hold her hair. She looks towards Felix and Wolfgang, lips pursed. "Sorry. We've got it, she's just drunk, we'll take her home..."

"Why did you call?" asks Wolfgang.

Silvia starts to cry again. "We just wanted to see some hot firefighters!"

"I hate. This job." Felix throws the bag over his shoulder. "And I take it back, let the cops have them."

Will sighs and signals to the officers to come over. Wolfgang grabs his EMS bag from the lawn and stands up, going with the other two back to the ambulance, parked along a popular, forested park. A rocket whizzes past them in the trees, accompanied by the sound of drunk sniggers.

"Stupid cops!" yells a boy from within the woods.

"We're not cops," sighs Wills.

"I hate this job, I hate teenagers, I hate you for signing me up for this shit," Felix goes on, looking around for the source of the rocket as they wind through the pines.

A firecracker goes off nearby and Felix swears.

"If I have to do this next year, I'll quit," he says. "I could be a club, with a girl on my dick, drinking a bottle of fucking champagne, but I'm here with a bunch of drunk teenagers and you assholes."

Another firecracker.

"This used to be my favorite holiday--"

Wolfgang shoves him towards the passenger door and hops back in the ambulance, warming his hands for a moment over the heat.

"--tired of welcoming the new year covered in strangers' vomit--"

Will loses patience. "Fuck! Felix, c'mon man, shut up!"

Wolfgang ignores the argument that follows this, opening up his phone, and sees that he's missed a call from Kala. He glances at her message -- _Ella is a bit scared, can you call?_ \-- and eyes Felix and Will, unsure how to keep a phone call undiscovered.

But, seeing that they're absorbed in their dispute, he lifts the phone to his ear. Kala answers with the sound of a movie in the background.

"Sorry, I was busy," he tells her.

"No, of course," she says quietly, "don't worry. Here's Ella, I'll put her on speakerphone...Ella sweetie, it's your papa..."

"Hello!" calls Ella.

Wolfgang smiles. "She sounds alright."

"Yes, well, we started yelling at the fireworks whenever we hear one and that seemed to help," explains Kala. "Your neighbors complained."

"They've complained before," he assures her, adding to Ella, "show me how you yell at them."

She lets out a giggle-infused shriek and Kala sighs.

"Mhmm, it wasn't my best idea," she says while Ella shouts "yay!" and claps her hands.

"You're an idiot," Wolfgang agrees, laughing. "What movie are you watching?"

"Atlantics," says Ella. "They're in the ocean but there's no water because there's a cave and they have this car that has a digging thing and they meet these people that live in a city and they have tattoos and there are these fish things that fly." A firework goes off and she gleefully yells, "Go away!"

Wolfgang glances down and smiles again. "Kal, I think that worked."

"The yelling? Yes, she seems okay, maybe next year we could take her to see the fireworks--"

"You can go tonight if you want," he says.

Kala inhales, hesitating. "You wouldn't mind?"

He shakes his head, still smiling. "No, go." Then a call comes in on the dispatch, alerting them to a car crash. He puts the ambulance in drive and flicks on the lights, pulling out. "Sorry, got a call--"

"Go go," she says.

"Okay, tschüß, I love you."

He hangs up and tosses his phone into his bag. Then he breathes in sharply, his hands suddenly clenching the steering wheel.

He feels Felix's eyes on him. "Holy...shit."

"Did you mean to say that?" mumbles Will after a moment.

Wolfgang puts on the sirens, keeping his gaze ahead. Then he gives a slight shake of his head.

***

Kala stays very still after the line dies, her phone still in her hand. She stares blankly at the paused movie until Ella nudges her. She puts it back on and silently shifts off the couch, then walks to the kitchen after an excuse about popcorn.

She stares out the window at the icy balconies and wind-damaged Christmas decorations of the next apartment complex. She wipes her eyes and hugs herself, standing in the dark. Then a bright white firework explodes above the roofs across the street, crackling in the cold air, sparkles flying.

Kala watches as it dissipates. Then she starts to smile. And grin. And laugh, jubilant and uncontained. She covers her face and turns in a slow circle, beaming until her cheeks ache.

She's sure he didn't mean to say that. The words felt so natural to him, so right, that they simply slipped out.

She tilts her head back, grinning, and runs her hands through her hair. Then she hurries back into the living room and kneels by Ella.

"What do you think...about going to watch the fireworks tonight? Since they don't scare you anymore?"

Ella's eyes snap off the screen. "Watch them?"

Kala nods, eyebrows perked. "They're so pretty, they do all different colors, we can get you some hot chocolate, hm?"

Ella nods eagerly, jumping off the couch. Kala laughs and hurries to get her dressed in warmer clothes and soon she's walking with her towards the Platz der Republik.

She checks the time and sees it's just 22:30, so she stops at a small, all-night bakery and huddles in one of the window seats with Ella, splitting a piece of chocolate cake. When Ella asks why she's smiling like that, she shakes her head and grins.

"I'm having a nice night," she settles for. "I think next year will be a good year. What do you think?"

"I'll be seven," Ella replies, licking some chocolate frosting off her finger.

"Yes you will! Let's play a game," suggests Kala. "You tell me something you want to happen next year, and I'll tell you something I want."

Ella thinks while she sucks on her fork. "I want a puppy."

"What kind of puppy?" wonders Kala.

"A...husky," says Ella.

Kala smiles and adjusts Ella's hair in her hat. "A husky? Ooh, you'd have to play with one of those all the time, they never get tired. Let's see...I want...to see my parents in Mumbai. I haven't been there in years."

"Grown-ups want silly things," Ella informs her, eating another big bite of cake and adding, "I want to see the ocean. Papa never has time to go."

"Well, that's not so hard," says Kala, eyeing her with a slight smirk. "I'll convince him."

Ella rolls her eyes. "He won't listen."

"He might listen to me," says Kala, scooping up a forkful of icing and whipped cream.

***

Wolfgang helps Will and Felix load a young man on a stretcher into the back of the ambulance, parked alongside the shattered glass aftermath of an accident. They hop in after the stretcher, leaving Wolfgang alone to drive.

He wanted to tell Kala he loves her in a moment of unparalleled connection and intensity. He wanted the words to be deliberate. He didn't expect them to slip out; he didn't realize that his feelings for her were already so solid, so internalized, that the most natural way to say goodbye was to say those three words.

He thinks back to Kala's cracked voice after they made love a few nights ago, her whispered words in Hindi, the warmth and faith in her eyes, the hint of fear. He tries to recall the words more specifically but he can't.

The hospital is close and they drop the latest patient off in the ER. Will and Felix get back in the cabin, both trying to speak to Wolfgang, but a voice comes over the dispatch.

"Domestic situation over near 38 Wildenbruchstraße. Cops are already on the scene and they want EMS. 27-D-3-G, male, early forties, and a 4-B-1-A...male, sixteen...and another 4-B-1-A, female, thirties. That 27-D isn't looking good."

"Alright," Wolfgang says, lifting the radio to his mouth. "Where exactly?"

"By the parking garage," says the dispatcher. "Left side."

"Huh, smart to shoot someone on New Years," Felix comments as Wolfgang flips on the sirens, adding, "how you holding up, Wolfie? You said you love her. You know that right?"

Wolfgang ignores him, focusing on the road as the ambulance builds speed. They reach Wildenbruchstraße quickly, the sky starting to flash with fireworks as midnight nears. The commotion is obvious, police cars bordering a small parking garage, music from a New Years party raging in a nearby apartment complex. Wolfgang parks quickly, heaving his EMS bag over his arm, and hurries across a lawn with Will and Felix.

There's an injured man on the ground, surrounded by police, and a boy nearby with his head in his hands, sitting on an icy curb in basketball shorts and a ratty hoodie. A woman is crying, leaning against a cop car, her lip bleeding heavily.

"Ugh, fuck, I hate these cases," Felix mumbles as an officer approaches them.

"Kid shot the dad, mom's a mess," the officer says shortly. "The dad's got two GSWs and it looks like the kid's arm's broken but he won't let us check him out. We've been here before. This family's a wreck, tonight's not new, just worse than usual."

Wolfgang feels Will's cautious eyes on him but he clenches his jaw and nods at the officer.

"Alright, Wolfgang, take that guy," says Will as the officer walks away, pointing at the older man on the ground.

"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea," mumbles Felix.

Will considers, then nods and nudges Wolfgang towards the kid on the curb.

***

Kala keeps her hand tight around Ella's, walking towards the Brandenburg Gate in a crowd of red, gold, and black. Ella sips on her hot chocolate, blue eyes wandering to take in the chaos of the city around her. She skips alongside Kala, jumpy but unafraid, and Kala finds a place near one of the barricades to watch the fireworks.

"Why are we stopping?" wonders Ella.

"Well, past here, you have to have tickets," explains Kala, adding as a procession of drunk friends swirls by, "and I think only adults are allowed..."

Ella hmphs, straining to see over the barricade, so Kala lifts her and lets her sit on it. She points to the sky above the illuminated gate. "We'll see the fireworks over --oh, thank you!" She laughs, accepting a glass of Gluhwein from a passing cart, handing over a couple of euros. "There," she goes on after a sip. "See where the gate is?"

"That's not a gate," says Ella.

"That's what we call it," says Kala. "And it is a gate, just a very large one. It used to be an entrance to the city a long time ago."

"Last year?"

Kala laughs. "No honey, a very long time ago, hundreds of years...it's pretty, don't you think? I like the horses."

Ella frowns. "Why are they green?"

Kala jumps at the opportunity to explain the chemistry of copper, but the crowd hushes then erupts as the first real firework of the night explodes in the Eastern sky. Kala covers Ella's ears with her hands and kisses the crown of her head to reassure her, but Ella gasps joyfully, gold sparks shining in her eyes.

***

Wolfgang kneels by the frozen curb as the sky turns to fire above them, a distant explosion ringing out, the scent of saltpeter so thick in the air that it's a shot to his senses. He studies the kid in front of him, bent in pain, huddling his Türkiye Futbol Federasyonu hoodie. He's as skinny as Felix but he has a mop of black hair and eyes that remind Wolfgang of Kala.

He tries to ignore the distressed shouts of the kid's father nearby and holds off an officer who's intervening to ask questions.

"Give him some space, he's in a lot of pain," says Wolfgang, controlled but firm enough that the officer listens. He turns back to the kid. "Can you move your arm?"

"Leave me alone, I'm fine," says the kid.

Wolfgang glances over his shoulder as Felix and Will work on the father, then looks at the faded bruises on the kid's neck. "Did he try to hurt you?"

The kid tries to scoff. "No--"

"Lying to the police doesn't work," says Wolfgang. "You aren't protecting anyone but him." He pauses when the kid doesn't answer. "What's your name?"

A grudging answer, but one Wolfgang senses is honest. "Işik."

"Okay, come over here," says Wolfgang, gesturing towards the ambulance. "It's warmer. We'll fix your arm--"

But a disturbance behind him interrupts. He turns to see Felix and Will imploring their patient to sit back down, but the man doesn't listen. Wolfgang swears softly, seeing his own worry mirrored in his friends' expressions. They've all seen adrenaline win over injury.

Işik stiffens, rising to his feet, feeling for the nonexistent gun at his side. Wolfgang notices this and steps in front of him, blood turning electric for the first time in years.

***

Kala hugs Ella from behind, her face snuggled in her half-finished French braid, warm and euphoric in the crowd of thousands as another firework explodes in the sky. Ella, for once, is speechless. She watches as raptly as Kala, a chocolate mustache on her upper lip, her boots bouncing occasionally on the barricade.

Kala grins as Ella laughs at the latest firework, then takes her phone out and nudges Ella playfully.

"Let's say hi to your papa, alright?" she asks, setting her cup of Gluhwein aside. "Ready?" She presses her thumb to the VM icon as another firework flares in the sky, their voice garbled with the explosions and the raucous crowd. "Alright, say hello--"

"Hi Papa!" bellows Ella, laughing.

"We're by the gate," says Kala. "It's very loud, I'm sorry! Happy New--"

"I love you, Papa!" Ella goes on.

Kala smiles and closes her eyes briefly, nuzzling Ella's temple. She brings the phone closer to her mouth.

"Happy New Year," she finishes. "I love you too." She wipes her eyes quickly and laughs. "God, I love you, I love you. Okay, say bye..."

"Bye!" shouts Ella as the next firework sounds off.

"Bye," whispers Kala.

***

Wolfgang knows how quickly a scene can dissolve into dangerous chaos, but he's never been in a fight on a call. Now that seems destined to change.

"Wolfgang!" Will's voice might as well be the wind. "Wolfgang--"

The police try to pull the injured father away from his son, reminding him that he's taken two bullets, but the man remains undeterred.

Wolfgang doesn't have to ask to know what happened and neither does Felix, who is at his side, trying to calm him. Even the police are mumbling about self-defense. The sequence seems clear, and the kid is too scared, too hurt, to be the instigator.

His mother calls at him and his father growls at her, spitting on the snow. Wolfgang fights with his mind to no avail.

  
_Irina groans quietly as she stands up, pressing her hand to the small of her back, her other hand on her belly. Wolfgang glances at her from his place by the window, the light of passing cars reflecting on his hair. Irina waves his concern off with a smile and reaches for her cold tea, then startles at the sound of the door downstairs._

_It's a hot night, almost September, and Anton is usually out later than this._  
  


The man gestures drunkenly at his son. He speaks in a language that Wolfgang doesn't understand, but he doesn't need to understand the words to know the man's intentions -- those are written in the lines of his face. His skin is gritty, long-unwashed, and it shines in the sickly yellow light of the nearby streetlamps. He spits out some tobacco and presses a hand to one of his wounds as he comes closer. Wolfgang watches the tobacco remnants land in the snow and thinks distantly of peanut shells.

  
_Wolfgang bares his teeth, fierce despite the pain growing in his side, a few ribs surely shattered. He expected his father to be drunk tonight, but not like this. He holds his hand up, the other clutching his ribs, and his mother sobs at Anton to leave him alone._

_Anton laughs at this and Wolfgang's blood surges. He maneuvers in the small space at the top of the stairs, keeping his mother back. He watches his father's hands, unsure if he's armed, and Anton digs a few peanuts out of his jacket. He eats them with the shell and saunters a bit closer to Irina, chewing. She shrinks behind Wolfgang, shielding her tummy._

"Sir, let's step back here," says one police officer, trying to pull the man away from his son and from Wolfgang, who stands stiff and fearless. "We don't need to make this worse. Sir!"

Wolfgang makes out the next words, now in German.

"You think you got me?" rasps the man, gesturing at the two holes in his body. He laughs coldly. "Not yet."

The boy flinches but doesn't step back. His mother shouts again from the ambulance nearby and more sirens wail down the block.

"Sir!" the officer repeats.

Wolfgang sees the glint of iron before the police do and so does the boy behind him. A decade ago, he would have reached for a gun too, but tonight, he slams his elbow into the man's throat, pushing him back, and bends the man's wrist back until his Glock drops in the snow.

"None of you checked him for weapons?" Will asks the officers angrily. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The man spits and struggles as the police shout about the unexpected presence of a firearm.

Then Wolfgang hears a familiar click.

He throws the man back and turns to see the kid, aiming steadily with a gun of his own.

"Don't--"

His voice dies as a shot rockets through the winter night, mingling with the fireworks.

***

Kala stares with Ella at the bright blue explosion in the sky, drunk with hope; the first twenty years of her life fall away like a bridge disintegrating into a river and she cheers with the other Berliners as the clock strikes midnight. She laughs as Ella stands up on the barricade, also cheering, and steadies her when she loses her balance at the sight of a thousand balloons being released into the sky.

***

Wolfgang knew the police would be faster than the kid. He knew when he heard the click of the safety that the kid had made a mistake.

"Fuck," he breathes, pressing some gauze hard into the kid's side while Will administers some oxygen.

The police speak into their radios, reporting the young suspect down, and fireworks continue to explode above the city. They've tried to contain the kid's mother by one of the squad cars, but she's fighting the way Wolfgang expected a mother to fight, calling out in her language to see her son.

"What the fuck is going on?" Will demands quietly, continuing to work on the kid with Wolfgang.

"The gun was in his shoe," says Wolfgang. "Cops didn't notice."

"And that asshole?" asks Will, gesturing with a flick of his head towards the kid's father, who is still upright and now laughing.

"Don't know," Wolfgang admits. "They didn't think to check, he had two GSWs in his chest."

"Wolfgang--"

"I know," Wolfgang says sharply, confident that Will is about to warn that the kid has a shaky prognosis.

His lip curls at the sound of the kid's father sneering and chortling behind them.

_Wolfgang fights, but he's smaller than his father. Wolfgang fights, but judging by his father's rage, Anton finally knows the secret that Irina told only to him._

_He rarely calls the cops, but tonight, his hand scrambles for the phone on the wall; he keeps his other hand extended in front of his mom._

_"No, no, put the phone down," Irina begs._

_Anton rips the cord down and hits Wolfgang in the face hard enough that he falters. In the seconds that follow -- he swears only ten could have passed -- he watches as his father swings his mother off her feet. He watches as she trips. And he watches as she plunges down the stairs, a short scream followed by a sick crack._

"Wolfgang..." Will says, worried.

Wolfgang ignores him, continuing to stem the blood flow from the wound in the kid's stomach, waiting for Felix to arrive with a stretcher.

The kid's father continues to grapple with the cops, jeering and laughing at his son for getting what he deserves. The kid starts to cough and convulse on the snow despite their efforts.

"Will someone shut this guy up?" asks Will, out of patience. "Why the fuck isn't he in an ambulance yet?"

"Congestion in Mitte because of the fireworks," says Wolfgang. "We're the only ones here."

He tries to ignore the deranged, drunk man behind him, counting on him to pass out due to blood loss soon. He tries to disregard the panicked first-year officer who pulled the trigger. He works quietly and collectedly on Işik, but his fury builds as his efforts grow more futile.

"Wolfgang?" Will checks again, but he doesn't hear him.

When he lets himself recall that night, he remembers the heat before anything else -- the sight of his mother motionless at the base of the stairs has never left his mind; neither has the image of his father plodding off the landing, so drunk that he collapsed only a moment later. But he remembers the heat first, because he can still feel it. It was so hot that night that the pavement steamed and he can taste the evaporating ozone and gasoline in his mouth again tonight, though his breath clouds and his fingers twitch in the frigid air.

"Wolfgang?" Will mumbles again.

The man trails off behind them, spluttering another abuse at his son on the ground before growing quiet. Will exhales, relieved, but Wolfgang halts, fixed on the man's inflection. It proves utter disregard for his son's condition. It's soft, almost a laugh.

He slowly rises to his feet, turning. Will's shout barely reaches him and the police stiffen, looking at him the way they'd regard a rabid dog. He hears Felix say his name, but he ignores him. The man stops mumbling, weak on his feet now, in cuffs.

Wolfgang stares at him and the brutal impulses that kept him alive as a kid spark anew in his blood. He feels hands on his shoulders, pulling him back, but he doesn't move. He chases images of wrenching this man's head out of its socket. He wonders how much strength it takes to break a neck. He doesn't expect it to take much.

"Wolfie," Felix says. His voice is different than it has been all night. It's different than he's heard it in years. "Wolfgang."

He stays still, eye to eye with this stranger.

"Wolfie. Hey. C'mon." Felix's voice is gentle. "Hey, think about Ella. And Kala. Okay? Think about them. You're okay. You just gotta step away, alright? That's all you've got to do."

Wolfgang closes his eyes. He swallows, taking such a deep breath that the cold air stings his chest.

"Yeah, just a step back," says Felix. "We're gonna go home, yeah? We're done here. We have to go."

He walks with Felix to the ambulance, past Will, who is attending to the kid with the other paramedics who arrived a moment earlier. He slides into the driver's seat, stiff, and rests his head against the steering wheel for a moment. His phone buzzes in his bag, likely a message from Kala, and he shuts his eyes hard.

Then he strikes the wheel with the side of his hand, shaking.

***

Kala didn't mean to stay awake for Wolfgang, but sleep eluded her despite the late hour, and she finds herself in the kitchen around two. She expected him to reply to her message, especially since she knew he saw it, but she reminds herself it is a hectic night.

She busies herself with making some mint tea and hears the door open a bit later, just as she's pressing the tea leaves against the strainer to squeeze out the last drop. She stops what she's doing and turns, inexplicably anxious.

She hears Wolfgang throw his gear down by the door and then he comes into the kitchen, shoulders heavy, his left hand bandaged. He doesn't speak as he approaches her. He doesn't meet her gaze even as he reaches her. He smells like sweat and rubbing alcohol and his eyes are weak and forlorn.

"Wolfgang?" she murmurs.

He doesn't reply. He pulls her into a crushing hug and she inhales, lifting her arms around him. She stays still for a breath, worried, but then she closes her eyes and softens into him. He stays here for a long time, thumbing along her spine, and tucks his face into her hair.

She swallows, her eyes darting under their lids, and breathes in his scent. She's about to speak, but his grip on her softens slightly. He pulls back and kisses her brow, his eyes still closed.

"I love you," he says, voice wrecked.

She starts to cry, keeping him close. "I love you too."

He rests his head on hers and breathes out, squeezing her waist. Then he mumbles, "Where's Ella?"

Kala startles. "She's -- she's asleep, it's two in the morning."

He nods, releasing her, and goes towards Ella's door. Kala follows him into the room, wiping her eyes, and watches as he sits on the foot of Ella's bed. He unties his muddy boots, setting them aside, then he curls up behind his daughter and pulls her into a hug. He closes his eyes in relief, thumbing over her messy hair, and Kala sniffles.

"Wolfgang?" she asks.

He lifts up his arm, wordlessly inviting her into the hug, so she slides into bed by Ella. He holds them both close, exhausted, and she reaches to rub his back.

"Is your hand alright?" she murmurs.

He flexes it under the bandage. "Think so."

She swallows. "Wolfgang, did something happen?"

He doesn't answer. She suddenly recalls the way he told the story of Ella's birth. Ella came into the world just after he saw a woman leave it, and she senses these experiences are inexorably tied for him. She senses that he's always been too keenly aware of his daughter's mortality, of his own, and now, of hers.

"I know you don't like to talk," she finally continues. "But--"

"There's nothing to say."

"I don't think that's true," she replies quietly.

He moves his thumb along her side. "Nothing that makes sense of anything."

"It's okay to say things that don't..." She exhales, thinking. "Things that don't explain or solve anything. It's alright just to talk."

He keeps his eyes down for a while, but when he looks at her, he slowly nods. After another moment, he begins a quiet story about his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is very Kala-centric :)


End file.
